Into the Darkness: The 6th Quarter Quell
by Lord Zagreus
Summary: The Games are the ultimate challenge, a battle of wit, cunning, strength and agility. Many enter the Games hoping to add "Victor" to their title, but only a handful of contestants have ever worn the crown. This year, the Games may seem rigged, but you never know what might happen in that Arena. It's win or die here, no excuses. Take my hand, and follow me Into the Darkness.
1. Restrictions- The Quell

**Hey y'all! Here is the first chapter, which is a little short, but then again, it's only the Quell reading, so, yeah. Here ya go:**

* * *

 _Chapter 1_

 _The Quell_

President Gumei Snow, Age 27, Capitol

"Hello, citizens of the ever-glorious Panem." I announced proudly into the microphone. Looking down from my balcony in the President's Mansion, I saw all the Capitolites, some of them cheering and others broadcasting with their cameras to the Districts. That was a special day, as that was the day that I was going to announce the Quarter Quell rules. "Today, I am going to announce the twist of the Quarter Quell for the 150th annual Hunger Games!" Cheers erupted even further in the crowd below me.

The Quarter Quell was thought up 150 years ago, and it meant that every 25 years, there would be a twist to the Games. Sometimes, as in the case of the 75th Games, the President and his Head Gamemaker would change the original Quell rule. However, that had only happened once.

As I waited for the cheers to die down a little bit, I thought of the past Quarter Quells. There had only been 5 previously, each one unique and cruel. The 1st Quarter Quell, for instance. The girl from District 12, Susan James, won at the age of 18, making her the District's 2nd Victor. That year, the Quell was for the tributes to be voted in. It was quite spectacular.

The 2nd Quarter Quell was also won by District 12. The Victor was Haymitch Abernathy, who won at the age of 16. That year, he competed in an arena with twice the tributes, as two boys and girls came from each District.

The 3rd Quarter Quell, who's rule was changed by my great-times-a-few-grandfather, President Coriolanus Snow, was won by Gloss Xerces of District 1, originally the Victor of the 63rd Games, at the age of 29. That year, the tributes were Reaped from each District's existing pool of Victors, because a girl from District 12, Katniss Everdeen, who had won the 74th Games, was "accidentally" causing a rebellion. Coriolanus caught wind of a plot to break her free, and had the Head Gamemaker for that year, Plutarch Heavensbee, kill her. When he failed to succeed, (multiple times) he had him arrested for treason and executed. Another Gamemaker took over, and got her killed by mermaid muttations. Later, Coriolanus had District 13 bombed repeatedly, as that was the rebellion's base of operations. He was a good man.

The 4th Quarter Quell had the third President Panem had ever had. That man was my grandfather, President Coriolanus Snow III. The girl from 7, Amber Zaman, won that year at the age of 13, making her the youngest Quell Victor ever. The rule for that year, was simply forcing District 13 into the Games. My grandfather would have changed it to that, but it was already what was written on the card, or so I've been told.

Speaking of cards, I was way past due on reading mine. I looked at the little boy standing next to me. My son. He was only 4, but he knew all about the Games and where I stood in politics. He loved the Games with a passion and was sad knowing he probably wouldn't become President.

I looked away from him and opened the little wooden box he was holding. Inside, above the velvet lining, stood hundreds of cards, each with a multiple of 25 on it. The very last one, which a select few people knew existed, was the card labeled _50000._ I grabbed the card above all the others, however, which read _150_. I slowly pulled it out, and took my time revealing the crisp, white paper. Finally opened, I looked down at the people of the Capitol. They all seemed to be holding their breaths, as I was. Reading the card, I released my breath and smiled.

"For the 150th Hunger Games and the 6th Quarter Quell, to prove to the rebels that the most loyal live longer, the tributes from poorer districts will be younger, and richer shall be older. The Reaping ages for this year shall be tweaked. Districts 1 and 2 shall be Reaped from 17 to 18 year old tributes. Districts 3 and 4 shall be Reaped from 16 to 18 year olds. 5 and 6 will be 15 to 17. 7, 14 to 16. 8 and 9, 13 to 15. 10, 12 to 14. And finally, for Districts 11, 12, and 13, ages 12 and 13. Happy Hunger Games, and to the people of the Districts, I tell you this: May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor." As I turned away from my podium I smiled to myself. It was kind of clear what Districts _weren't_ going to win this year.

* * *

 **Okay, so that was chapter one, to let you know what all the Reaping Ages are. I'm hoping you like the idea for the Quell, and I hope you give me some comments on where I could do better, and where I did an okay job. Criticism is loved and encouraged. Oh, and don't worry, I will explain the 5** **th** **Quell later, and how 13's only Victor came from it. So, yeah. No 13 mentors, but this one kid.**

 **Basically, the Reaping ages are as follows:**

 **District 1: 18 and 17.**

 **District 2: 18 and 17.**

 **District 3: 18, 17 & 16.**

 **District 4: 18, 17 & 16.**

 **District 5: 17, 16 & 15.**

 **District 6: 17, 16 & 15.**

 **District 7: 16, 15 & 14.**

 **District 8: 15, 14 & 13.**

 **District 9: 15, 14 & 13.**

 **District 10: 14, 13 & 12.**

 **District 11: 13 & 12.**

 **District 12: 13 & 12.**

 **District 13: 13 & 12**

 **I STILL NEED TRIBUTES! Most of the tributes I've been sent are strong and only one or two are pretty much destined to be bloodbaths. The more Bloodbath tributes that get submitted, the less "others" will actually de in that first 45 seconds. I'm thinking about writing another chapter, from a Capitolist's point of view on some past Games or something. Some highlights.**

 **Remember: You can submit up to 4 tributes! Only one person has taken advantage of this, and has submitted 2.**

 **Thanks a bunch for reading!**


	2. Perfect Escort- Prologue

**Hey, guys! Thanks to everyone who has submitted tributes so far, and I must say I'm surprised that there are only two slots with two submissions each, the District 1 Male and the District 4 Female. This wouldn't be such a big deal if, for the District 1 Male, both submitters hadn't only submitted one tribute. That's right! Infinite Despair and CreativeAJL, you have both only submitted one tribute to the D1 Male slot and therefore have a 50% chance of having someone in the Games! I would suggest one or both of you submitting another one, so you have a 100% chance of getting in!**

 **As you probably didn't notice, you can now submit up to 5 tributes, and THIS SUNDAY, which is in about a week, will be when I select the official tributes. 9 slots are still completely empty, so submit away!**

 **Here's a pre-Games chapter, to unbore everyone, and keep myself hyped for the Games, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 2

An Interview

Calliegh Rollings, Age 23,Capitol

I woke up to the sound of my dreaded alarm clock. Lifting my head off my fluffy pink feather pillow, I growled at it's glowing red letters, which read 09:00, wondering why in Panem it woke me at this unforgiving hour. As I reached out to press the golden _Rest_ button, I remembered why I had set it for this time.

"My interview's today!" I shouted with glee at the rectangular clock. It didn't reply, it just kept beeping. I jumped out of bed, throwing back the gold satin sheets, so they were nothing but a big mess. I picked up my clock and pushed the stop button, kissing it in the process. _Whoever invented these things like 400 years ago needs a big thank-you._ I thought, _they're a genius!_

I dropped the clock and practically bolted to my bathroom, throwing my silky purple pajamas onto the multi-colored tile floor. Turning the water on in my shower, I was relieved to feel all tiredness wash away with the warm water.

I got the bubblegum-scented shampoo and scrubbed my long, straight black hair, making sure it was nice and sleek for the interview. I then scrubbed my body with a vigor, as I wanted any imperfections to be gone for the day.

After a few minutes, I got out of the shower, dripping across the floor to the dryer. I pushed the silver _Go_ button and gasped as I felt the welcome hot air engulf my body. In seconds, I was dry, and I picked my pajamas off the floor and tossed them into the hamper.

I then left the bathroom and strode over to my mahogany vanity. I grabbed the clothes on top of it and slipped into them, loving the way the cold fabric felt against my skin. Looking in the three mirrors, I saw that my new dress was quite flattering.

It was simple but beautiful. Blue cylindrical fabric, about two feet long and one inch in diameter, covered my entire body, from my chest to my shins. The shoes I had elected to wear that day were considered "Roman" at some point in time, and were like normal sandal, the heel about an inch high, with brown leather bands crisscrossing around my shin, until they reached my knee. Smiling to myself, I sat down to do my hair.

I opened a drawer and pulled out a can of Stick-a-Spray. It was the highest quality hairspray out there, and my drawer had a couple dozen cans of it. Slowly, I pulled my hair into thick strands and got to work, sticking my hair up and to itself. Over and over, I pulled my hair up and sprayed it, until I had done it about twelve or so times. Once I had gotten to the point where I had one more strand to set up, I took the blue object off my desk and placed it softly in the center of my head.

Looking up in the mirror again, I gazed in wonder at my own handiwork. It had never been done before, but I liked setting new trends, not following them. As I looked at the blue jay, it began to move ever so slowly, it's blue and white feathers seeming incredibly realistic, shining from it's hairy cage.

Which reminded me. I had to put on the finishing touch. I opened another drawer and pulled out long blue feathers, covering the black bars of the cage with them. _There._ I thought, _I'm ready._

I turned to look at my nightstand at my clock, which read _10:47._ "Crap." I muttered. I got up and ran to the door, hoping that my hair'd stay put.

President Gumei Snow, Age 27, Capitol

"Thank you, Ms. Vespa. I'll call you later with an update." I said without emotion. The plump lady I had been "Interviewing" for the last half hour stood up, bowing stiffly. She then turned on her heel and strode out. Her sun yellow wig made her seem like she was already an escort. Stupid hag.

"Minerva, send the next one in. Now." I told the phone that buzzed my secretary.

"Right away, sir." She answered, a nervous edge in her voice. She always knew when not to anger me. That's why she had lasted so much longer than any other secretary I had. The heavy dead bolt on the iron door in front of me clicked, and a young woman, perhaps younger than me, walked in, her stride suggesting confidence and purpose.

"Hello, Mr. President." The woman said. "Calliegh Rollings, at your service."

"W-what?" I stuttered. Her attire was unlike anything I had ever seen. Her hair was strung up like a bird's cage, and a little bird sat within its confinement. Her dress looked like feathers, imitating the bird that moved like a real bird, obedient as any dog I had ever owned.

She bowed and sat down, repeating herself. "My name is Calliegh Rollings. How are you today, sir?"

"I-I'm fine." I stuttered again. "I'm sorry. Was there some sort of fashion trend I missed?"

"No sir." She smiled brightly. "I made this myself yesterday. Do you like it?"

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. Looking down at my papers, I grabbed a golden pen from the jar on my desk, and wrote _Calliegh Rollings_ under _Applicant Name_. "How old are you?" I asked, looking at the section that explained the importance that escorts be no older than 40 years old.

"23" She answered simply.

I went on to ask a series of questions, and I marveled at her love for the Games. She answered each question with ease, as if she had memorized her answers for each one. Then it came down to the real decider.

"What is your opinion on Ms. Bubble Clearwater, escort of District 5 from the 138th Games to last year?" I tried not to smile at the thought. Ms. Clearwater "disappeared" last year, after the Victory tour in the Capitol.

She made a sour face, her features scrunching up, her makeup folding and cracking. "She was a despicable person." She started, "she loved the Games, but cracked after she lost her 23rd tribute to the hazards of the arena. She was weak. On the bright side, it gave me the chance to have this interview and have her job, so I really should thank her."

I couldn't keep the smile on my face. "Ms. Rollings, you are definitely going to be our next escort. My, er… assistant, Minerva, will tell you everything you need to know about being an escort. She's the one you spoke to at the desk before entering."

She stood up and bowed. "Thank you, sir! I won't disappoint you!" She turned on her heel and strode out, even more confidence in her stride.

"Minerva?" I pressed the button on my microphone.

"Yes, sir?"

"We have a new escort, and make sure you let her know that I have a few things that have to change."

"Like what, sir?"

Minerva Dove, Age 31, Capitol

"Sign here, please." I asked the lady in front of me as I held a pen out to her. A gestured to the spot on the sheet of paper I was holding. This was what I hated about new escorts; they always gave me mountains of paperwork.

"Again?" She asked almost exasperated. "What's this one for?" She signed.

"This is your promise to change your legal name from Calliegh Rollings to Indigo Pearl." I answered.

"Oh, okay." She replied. "Wait, what?!" She looked at me in surprise and anger. What had _I_ done?

"Yes… Didn't you read the paper? I typed it out myself. It states here in section 3 that the President thinks you should have a more-er, Capitolistic name." _Did she not read any of this!?_ I thought in anger, _Every single escort does to me. They get the job, and ignore the paperwork, which I work so hard to create. And do I get any credit? NO!_

I was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. "What else did I sign for?" She asked politely.

"You also signed on… this paper, here," I pulled another page out of the folder I was carrying, "That the President may disclose your newfound style to the Capitol, under his name." I sighed.

"What makes him think he can do that?" She pounded her fists against my oakwood desk. "That was me. ALL me!"

"Ma'am, please don't raise your voice." I warned.

"Okay, okay. When do I leave on my train to get to District 5?" She asked, obviously trying to stay calm.

"Actually, miss, you leave for District _12_ , today." Knowing what her next reaction was gonna be, I turned on my heel and walked into the other room. "The info is on my desk!" I called behind me.

She didn't answer.

* * *

 **So, there's chapter 2, hoped ya'll liked it! I'm going hunting this weekend, so I will (hopefully) be posting the final tributes this Sunday evening. Again, CreativeAJL and Infinite Despair, you are going to have to submit another tribute, otherwise you'll only have a 50% chance of getting in the Games. To be clear, I still have:**

 **D3 Male**

 **D7 Male**

 **D7 Female**

 **D8 Female**

 **D9 Female**

 **D10 Male**

 **D11 Male**

 **D11 Female**

 **D13 Male**

 **Of course, anybody can and will see this story after I post the chapter, and will therefore submit to slots besides those 9. So, for those of you who have submitted only 1 (in total) you may be in DANGER, as being in the Games is such an honor.**

 **I don't mean to drag this out, but Jotunheim Storm, I have no idea where the name Cornflower came from, but I fixed it. Speaking of Jotunheim Storm, (s)he is writing a Hunger Games, and I have 3 tributes in it! The SYOT is closed, but as JS has written many good stories, I'd suggest checking it out once the 1** **st** **chapter is up. I have been Lord Zagreus.**


	3. Golden Gardens- District One

**Hey, guys! Here's the first Reapings! Aren't you excited? I am. The tributes are now official, and I am trying really hard to keep myself from planning the Bloodbath. Luckily (for you guys), I only have a few definite ideas, as only 4 tributes were submitted as Bloodbaths. So therefore, I get to select more! Yay!**

 **First off, a disclaimer. I don't own the Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins does, nor do I own Geometry Dash. I own quite a few characters in this story, but I own almost none of the tributes, just their time in the Arena and their deaths, and a few other things. The tributes belong to their respectful FanFictioneers. (Yes, I made that up) So, without further ado, the Reapings for District 1.**

* * *

Chapter 3

Reapings Part One

Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District 1

"Come on, Marcus! The Reapings are today!" A young, high pitched voice screamed from the edge of my consciousness, "It's time to get up!"

I mumbled something unintelligible, and tried to pass that fine line between reality and dreamland. But that voice kept yelling.

"Marcus! Get up! Do I need to make Mom come up here?" The voice asked, "Cuz I will." That was all it took to drag me across the border to life. I seriously needed to get a lock on my door.

"I'm up." I mumbled, opening my eyes slightly. The little girl sitting on my bed stared at me expectantly. "Fine!" I threw back the covers, making her lose her balance and fall back on the bed. "But you need to be punished for what you've done, little one."

"And how do you plan on doing that, Marcus?" She dragged out my name menacingly.

"By sending out the Tickle Monster!" She screamed and giggled as I tickled under her arms and on her belly. She shook and wiggled, trying to escape. I held her fast.

"Stop!" She wailed, "Please, I can't take it anymore!"

I was about to reply when I heard from down the hall, "Marcus! Alina! Breakfast!"

"Race ya!" Alina announced, shoving me as hard as she could and bolting out the door. I laughed and got up to pursue her.

By the time I got downstairs to the dining room, she was already pouring syrup on her pancakes. As I entered, she stuck her tongue out at me, exclaiming, "Slow poke!"

I smiled and sat down, claiming a plate for myself. Plucking a plastic white fork on the kitchen table, I examined the cake on my white paper plate. It was a little black in the center of the top, but a golden brown everywhere else. Everything has flaws, I suppose.

"Hurry up and eat! The Reapings are in an hour!" My mother exclaimed from the sink in the kitchen, "You still need to get ready!"

Taking her advice, I shoveled mouthful after mouthful into my mouth, barely even tasting it. Once I was done, I pushed away from the table like I did when I was little, and ran up the stairs into the long hallway.

In my room, I opened up the weird folding door that revealed all the clothes I owned. Unlike most people in the District, my family wasn't very rich, as my father had walked out on us many years ago, when I was seven, and I worked for all the money we had. I picked out the Reaping outfit I had chosen months ago, sitting in a heap on a shelf.

I undressed and pulled out the black long-sleeved shirt, doing up the buttons that went up the front. Once I thought I was finished, I looked in the mirror, and realized that I had been off by 2 buttons. Growling in frustration, I undid it and tried again, this time going very slowly so I could actually do it right. Rolling up the sleeves, I strode over to my bed and grabbed the dark brown pants and hauled them up my legs, annoyed at how slow the work seemed to be.

Looking back in the mirror, I saw an average, 5'10", 17-year-old boy who could be from just about any District, save the one he actually lived in. I walked to the bathroom and got some gel out, shaping my dark brown hair into a faux-hawk. My stocky shoulders showed strength and gave a sense of pride and courage. I had all of those, and I was proud of it. My light tan came from training outside, and I overall seemed older than 17. Some people even mistook me for mid-twenties! What a crazy world.

I heard the door downstairs open, and I hurried down to greet Caleb, my only friend in this whole world. "Ready to go?" He asked.

Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1

"Ms. Garnet, the heart! The heart!" My mentor, John Kwartz **,** shouted at me again. Nodding my head, he tapped a red button in his control booth, starting the simulation again. Holding my bow firmly in my left hand, I nocked an arrow.

The room darkened quickly, and I looked around, alert for the first tribute. A faint glow from behind got me turned around, and I fired without thinking. The blue hologram, who wielded a mace, dissipated into thin air.

More alert now, I pulled another arrow out of my quiver, swiveling my head in all directions. Another hologram appeared 20 feet in front of me, and threw a holographic axe at me. Jumping out of the way at the last second, I fired an arrow, expecting it to hit its target. However, the holographic tribute, nimble as I am, jumped out of the way, my arrow disappearing into the darkness of the room. It jumped towards me, and I rolled forward, pulling an arrow out of my quiver as I did so. As the glowing blue axe came down at my head, I stabbed it in the stomach. I stumbled, stabbing only air.

Not waiting for the shimmering air to dissipate, I looked around for my next target. Turning around over and over again, I couldn't find it. Suddenly, above me on the catwalk, the tribute appeared, a trident glowing in its hands. Pulling back the string of my bow, I sent an arrow soaring at it. However, instead of piercing the heart as was intended, the arrow glided through the left elbow, leaving a hole in the hologram. Being only light, my enemy wasn't fazed by this, and threw the trident with incredible accuracy. Before I could move, the center prong of the weapon touched my throat, and a wave of heat came over me. The room's alarm went off then, all the lights glowing red. I would have died.

"You set them on "Career", didn't you?" I looked up at the booth, where John and another woman stood. Everyone knew them, as they were the two most recent Games Victors. John was the Victor of the 113th Games, and the woman, Jade Heghes, had won the 134th Games. They had won the Games 16 and 37 years ago, bringing much shame to the District. 16 years without a Victor, and District 2 had had 4 since then!

Frustrated, I walked quickly out of the training room, and I continued my pace to the girls' locker room and changed into my Reaping outfit. After getting dressed, I looked at myself in the locker room mirror.

The peach-colored tunic flowed down to my ankles, and the butterfly sleeves went from my hip to my wrists, so when I lifted my arms I looked like an ancient Greek deity. Around my neck I wore a pure silver chain necklace, and I wore brown leggings under the tunic. My light orange high heels sparkled in the light of the room. I twirled my strawberry blond hair through my fingers, down the strands until I reached my shoulders, where it ended.

I waved to all the trainers at the various stations as I left the training center. Gwen, who was kind of a friend of mine, walked to me from her post at the javelin station. "Good luck today." She gave me an encouraging smile. "I'm glad the Victors approved of your volunteering. After everything I've seen you do, I wouldn't be surprised if you were home in two weeks!"

"Thanks, Gwen." I smiled back, trying to hide how shaken up I was about the would-be-death experience in the Archery Simulator. "As I'm crowned, I'll be thinking of how hard you trained me."

She simply laughed and said, "Well, you'd better go. It's your time to shine, Malaya." I smiled at her and walked out the door without turning back.

Turquoise Marr, Age 30, Capitol

I sat on a lime green plush chair in the Justice Building of District 1, playing Geometry Dash on my phone. I tapped the screen in a kind of rhythm as the little red and black square jumped and rolled around a maze of triangles.

Nearly jumping out of my chair, I heard the District's mayor finishing his speech and announcing me. Pausing my game, I pocketed the phone, reminding myself that I had a job to do.

I fought against squinting my eyes as the giant iron doors opened before me. The sun was shining proudly across the District today, showing off the blindingly bright colors of every tint and shade. I readjusted my wig a tad as I looked down at the possible tributes for this year, and I smiled. This was the day that I lived for.

"Welcome, citizens of District 1! My name is Turquoise Marr, as most of you know, and I am here to Reap the tributes for the 150th Annual Hunger Games! Before we get started, here's a little video presentation from the Capitol!" I gestured toward the big screen, and it flickered to life.

It showed an image of District 12, in ruins, at the time of the 2nd rebellion 75 years ago. It showed an image of Katniss Everdeen, who had started the war, in the ruins of her own house. Her lips were singing a song, but seeing as it was illegal, and still is, the words couldn't be heard. Instead, President Snow's voice echoed around the grounds of the Justice Building.

 _A foolish young girl, Katniss Everdeen won the_

 _74_ _th_ _Hunger Games with the help of her_

 _District Partner, Peeta Mellark. In order to allow_

 _both of them to become Victors, she threatened_

 _a double suicide, to force the Gamemakers to_

 _give in to her wishes. As a result,_

 _she made the Districts think the rebellion was_

 _a good idea._

Various other images featuring the 2nd rebellion played, the President commentating on them the whole time. A few minutes later, it entered the final chapter in the horrifying girl's life.

 _For the 75_ _th_ _Hunger Games, previous Victors were_

 _Reaped, and Ms. Everdeen went back into the_

 _Arena. She survived only a day and a_

 _half, perishing at the hands of squirrel Muttations._

It then showed Katniss being chased by pitch-black squirrels, who jumped from tree to tree and spat fire at the "Girl on Fire". She tripped, and, ironically, burned to death as she was torn apart. Her allies, Finnick Odair of District 4, and Beetee Latier of District 3 also died at the paws of those mutts. The clip then showed Peeta, his face flush with tears, stagger into a waiting Gloss Xerces, who slit his throat and left him to die.

Then it pictured the final member of Katniss' alliance, Johanna Mason, fighting Gloss in the final 2. Her axe on his sword, she seemed to be gaining on him, when he mentioned killing Peeta. She faltered, and he sent his sword through her neck, and decapitated her. He raised his hands to the sky, and everyone in the crowd below me cheered. Gloss Xerces had become the Victor of Victors.

As the screen fell to blank, I spoke through the microphone, "Brings me to tears every time, you know." I faked tears, "But now, I must Reap the female to participate in this year's Games." I walked over to my left, where 2 bowls stood on 3' tall wooden pedestals. I let my hand fall into the one closest to the crowd. Plucking a piece of paper, I turned to the other bowl, and accepted one from it.

"The female tribute from District 1 is Sha-" was literally all I said.

"I volunteer!" A scream echoed from the crowd. From the 17-year-old section, a girl with bright long, strawberry blonde hair walked into the center aisle, a large grin on her face. Her arms weren't very thick, which led me to wonder why she had volunteered. I figured she was probably an archer or something. When she was standing next to me, I realized she was about 5'7" tall, only a little shorter than me. Her perfect teeth boasted a pair of exceptionally sharp canines. This led me to see her more as a wolf than a week little girl.

"What's your name, dear?" I asked her.

"Malaya Garnet." She answered with pride, "And I am you're next Victor!"

I gave a little laugh and said into the mic, "Now. The boys." Pocketing the spare piece of paper, I turned to my right, and chose one name from each of the bowls, as I had done for the girls. Pocketing the spare slip, I announced to the District, "Dere-" And I stopped. No sound could be heard from below me. "Oh, sorry." I said, embarrassed, "Derek Tinsel."

A scrawny, weak-looking boy with a mop of black hair left the 17-year-old section. He took a few steps when I heard the best 2 words of my life, "I volunteer!"

Ignoring Scrawny Derek, I focused on the new boy. He came from the 17-year-old section too, and seemed much taller than me, maybe 5'10"! His dark brown hair was in a faux-hawk, and his chiseled jawline made me think I was falling in love. His stocky shoulders made up my mind, and I realized that I wanted him to make it out of the Arena.

As he stood next to me, I saw he looked a little sad, as if he wasn't planning this. His eyes burned gold, and I knew that I wouldn't be the only one after him. "What's your name, son?" I asked.

"Marcus Caelum." He said, trying to sound calm.

I smiled at him and proclaimed, "District 1, you're tributes for the 150th Annual Hunger Games, the 6th Quarter Quell!" Then, almost in a whisper, "Shake hands, please." They did, and I turned them around and lightly pushed them into the Justice Building. Following them, I pulled the two pieces of paper out of my pocket. _Now_ I thought, _The Victors who'll be mentoring this year_.

Caleb Rubi, Age 17, District 1

 _I can't believe that idiot of a friend volunteered!_ I thought to myself. _He's so stupid! No-one was chosen to volunteer this year for a reason! Not a single man in this District is ready!_ I walked through the doors of the Justice Building, heading in the direction of where I thought they had taken Marcus.

As I walked, I took note of the blindingly white marble on the floor and walls. The ceiling was painted with various angels and clouds. Some angels seemed to be looking down at me, which got me to feel very creeped out.

Along the hall were many pieces of furniture; tables, chairs, couches, even a few paintings here and there. Finally, I reached a dark wooden door with a Peacekeeper in front of it.

"Mr. Caelum?" He asked me.

"Yes sir." I answered, expecting him to move to the side, I walked forward.

"No entry." He said flatly shoving me away.

"And why not?" I asked, rubbing my head after it impacted the wall.

"He doesn't want any. Now get out of here before I have you arrested."

I turned to walk away. "But… what about his family?" The man didn't answer, and I strode out of the Justice Building, angry at the stupid piece of dirt I had called my friend.

Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1

I sat on the dark brown chair in the small room they had put me in. The stupid chair was made out of wood, and the seat itself, as well as the back rest, were made out of some kind of long, stiff, brown hair. It was terribly uncomfortable, and I decided it would be better to stand in the corner to my left.

The door opened after a minute and my parents walked in. I turned away from them and suddenly got very interested in a black spot on the wall. After their five minutes were up, the door opened and they walked out.

Next to walk in was my boyfriend, Chaz. That goodbye was almost as bad, as he gave me a kiss and stated, "I love you", although he didn't seem convinced. I repeated what he said back to him in the same tone and he turned and walked out, grinning to his ears.

My next "visitor" was my other boyfriend, Zircon. He stood there and stared at me for a few minutes and said without conviction, "I'll miss you."

I didn't even look at him. I just stared ahead and placed a blank look on my face. This boy, this… child, had yelled at me the other day when he saw me with Chaz. What right does he have to yell at me? After realizing he wouldn't get a response, he left.

My final visitor was my _third_ boyfriend Benni. He ran over to me, tears rolling out of his eyes. "I can't believe you did that!" He said, "What'll I do if you die?"

I smiled and answered, "I'll be fine." _Hellooooo? Do you not realize who you're talking to? The best tribute-scratch that,_ volunteer- _in the past 16 years!_ "My chances of death in the arena are very slim. But don't worry, if I do die, I'll be thinking of you."

"Okay." Was all he said before running out the door, full-on crying. The crying stopped as soon as the door shut.

My parents didn't care for me, nor I them. My boyfriends only became my boyfriends because I was popular. But I didn't care, that's what made me more popular among the District, and that's all that matters… Right?

Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District 1

As I was escorted onto the train, I couldn't help but think, _Why hadn't anybody come? I have a family, they love me, I should have been visited, by Caleb and Mom and…_ my mind paused. _Alina?_ I was shaken from my thoughts when a fairly small hand grabbed my shoulder, pulling me fairly forcefully to my left. In front of me, waiting by the back doors was my District Partner, Malaya or something. To my immediate right was our escort, Turquoise _._

"You can let me go, now." I told her, being as intimidating as possible, "I'm not blind!"

"Of course not, dear. Not with those eyes." She looked into my eyes, her pale green ones against my hazel. What was wrong with these people and tributes?

"Sorry if I'm interrupting." Malaya apologized half-heartedly, "but who are our mentors going to be this year?"

I sighed a breath of relief as Turquoise's focus finally went to somewhere else. "That would be-" she started.

"Me." Came a voice from behind me.

"Joy." Malaya muttered as Jade Heghes, Victor of the 134th Games,walked up from behind me and boarded the train, not turning to look at us. I turned around, expecting one of the other Victors to show up.

"Where's our male mentor?" I asked.

"Well… Marcus," she practically purred my name, "you weren't supposed to know, but the male mentor for District 1, is dead, and has been for many years. He's mentored since he died, as he will for you. They're working on him right now."

"What are you talking about, lady?" Malaya asked.

Turquoise only laughed, "The Capitol is bringing Gloss Xerces, Victor of the 64th and 75th Hunger Games and Victor of Victors, back to life. To mentor you." With that, she turned on her heel and boarded the train, throwing one last glance my way before she disappeared.

* * *

 **So, here are the Reapings for District 1. I know I should have updated a while ago, but I've been camping a lot and I had a lot of homework to catch up on. The final tributes who are actually going into the Games are in Chapter 1. I should get the next Reapings up soon, (Districts 2-4) but I can't give you a definite date.**

 **So far, I have 13 reviews! You guys are awesome!**


	4. Stone Quarries- District Two

**Hello, hello, people of FanFiction! Thanks to everyone who showed so much love for the last chapter, it made me feel so appreciated! I can't believe how much people loved Marcus and Malaya. I can't wait to share these tributes with you, but first:**

 **ConflictedMinds: Thank you so much! The wait is over ;)**

 **MysticalPineForest: Thanks! I like them too, and thanks again.**

 **Crystals of Ice: I'm glad you liked it, and thanks. The wait is over, as Cassia is up next. Thanks again!**

 **TranscendentElvenRanger: I'm glad you like her so much, as I do too. She is pretty awesome. Thanks for the review!**

 **(Speaking of, TranscendentElvenRanger is writing Forest of Death: The 54** **th** **Hunger Games. Check it out! I have 3 tributes in it!)**

 **InfiniteDespair: Thanks for your review, I was actually worried that it wouldn't be "good enough", so thanks!**

 **Clis2339: I'm glad you liked it so much, I love to hear reviews like that. Hope you enjoy this one as much.**

 **IVolunteerAsAuthor: I'm glad. Perhaps you can submit to my next one!**

 **I am going to try and do that every time, unless I somehow get to the point where it's pointless to try, even though I doubt that will happen.**

 **I am so excited to announce that I don't own the Hunger Games, and probably never will. If somehow I do end up owning it, I'll make sure I let you guys know.**

 **Anyway…**

* * *

Chapter 4

Reapings: District 2

Cassia Lyra Maurise, Age 18, District 2

* * *

The knives were mere extensions of my body; they flew out of my hand with ease, soaring through the air and slicing the flying apples in two, ending their journey in the throat of the dummy. My mother had been throwing the apples over my head for the past few hours, so I could get some last-minute training in for the Games. So far, things were looking great.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an arrow flying toward me. Its trajectory wasn't going to make contact, but I knew this test. Twirling for flair, I swung my arm and released the knife from my hand, my fingers sliding along the cool metal to keep it from spinning as it cut the arrow in two. The halves fell to the ground at my feet.

My father walked into the room from behind a door in the hall, a smile on his face. Embracing me, he exclaimed, "That was great, Cass! I can't wait to see that action in the arena! Another Victor for Two, I say." He wanted to volunteer for the 119th Games, but chickened out at the last second. Kind of sad, too, because 12 ended up winning that year, giving them their 12th Victor, or, their 11th Victory. It was probably way easier to keep track of Victors before the dual Victory back in the 74th.

District 2 was proudly in the Victory lead, with 30 victories in the last 149 years. The runner-up was District 1, with 18 victories, but only 17 Victors. Gloss Xerces messed that up, too.

"I know I've said it before, but I am not surprised in the slightest that you were chosen to participate this year! Moves like that'd make Annie Lepodolite jealous!" My mother praised.

"Yeah." A sarcastic voice came from the direction of the stairs, "You were "chosen to participate" in a televised death match between 26 kids! Congratulations!" My sister, Andrea, rolled her eyes and stomped up the stairs.

I laughed after the footfalls ceased, and after a moment, so did my parents. Andrea was 20 years old, and was too interested in "self-preservation" to volunteer for the Games. In the rest of her family's minds, she was just too stupid and afraid to participate in a Game of such high honors. That's why she hasn't any friends.

The laughter continued for a good few minutes until bells could be heard tolling in the distance. Still laughing, I looked around the basement of my home. I would be leaving today, and never returning. Next time I was in Two, I was going to be in the Victor's Village.

Wiping my tears away, I hugged my parents and ran up the stairs, out of the basement and into the kitchen of the main floor of the house. Passing Andrea, I continued to run up to the second floor and into my room to get dressed for the day I volunteer to be District 2's 31st Victor.

* * *

Annie Lepodolite, Age 20, District 2

* * *

It was another beautiful summer morning in the Victor's Village of District 2. Yes, I'm a Victor. I won the 142nd Hunger Games at the age of 12. That may sound really cool, but it's not. Not that I don't like what happened in the Arena, but I'm not the first person to win at the age of 12.

First there was a girl from District 1. Her name was Queenie Kingdoms, and she won the 76th Games, making her her family's 3rd Victor. Of course, since her Games, no-one from her family left the Arena alive, and it's been over 70 years!

The next 12 year old Victor came from my District. His name was Victor Helah, and he's the only male 12 year old Victor. He wasn't allowed into the Career alliance because he was 12 and had no Victor bloodline. On his own, however, he still took out 3 tributes in the bloodbath and 12 more over the rest of the Games, including the remaining 4 Careers and his 3 allies. That was back in the 87th.

My brother Mason was lucky enough to be born during the 132nd, so he'd be 18 for the Quarter Quell. I was planning on volunteering for the 148th, but I was Reaped and the girl who was supposed to volunteer left me for dead. Mason didn't move in with me when I won, because he wanted to earn that himself. So, he was probably down at our parents' house, getting ready for the Reaping. I, personally was already prepared. I was just waiting for my driver, who'd be taking me and 4 other Victors to the Justice building in Stone Junction.

After what seemed like forever, the light blue limo arrived, the anti-gravitational engine humming slightly. The far back door opened slightly, and I hopped in, looking at the faces of my fellow Victors.

* * *

Moara Slater, Age 17, District 2

* * *

I hate summer mornings, no matter how beautiful. Walking down the stairs of my home, I gazed at the luxurious marble lining the walls and ceiling. _You deserve this._ She said. _You've earned it._ She said. _This is what you've worked for all those years._ She said. Seems to me, all she _didn't_ say was how to cope with it all. It's one thing to train and watch. It's a whole other to actually live it. And now, it was my turn to teach children how "not" to die in the arena.

Why did I have to be the volunteer last year? At the time, it seemed like a good idea, but now, life's a nightmare. The little girl from Three, whom I beheaded. The big boy from Seven, who I slashed with my axe without further thought. Merder, who I betrayed in that cave. Their faces torture me at night, and I know they'll never go away.

I sigh as I sit down at my dining room table, grabbing the mug of coffee that was set out for me when I got up. The avoxes that stayed in my house were so nice.

My cat, Pumpkin, surprised me when he snuggled up to my leg. Screaming in surprise, I jumped up, spilling my coffee everywhere. Biting my lip, I quietly sat back down, trying to remain calm. Why couldn't my fellow Victors share my pain?

 _DING! DING!_

Cursing under my breath, I hurried over to the bathroom to get dressed. I knew I was going to sleep in, so I had practically thrown my clothes into the little bathroom, and the silky green dress and leggings were sprawled over the counter and sink.

A knock at my door startled me, and it opened. Figuring it was my mentor, Rocky Malfe, I hurried with getting dressed and rushed into the living room to meet him. He stood there, smiling. He and I were the same age, 17. He won the 148th Games at 15, and I won last year at 16, which made us back-to-back Victors who were the same age.

"Mornin, Moara." He greeted, a wide smile on his face.

"Hey, Rock. Ready to go?" I replied with a sigh.

"Nervous?" He asked. I looked at him, nodding slowly. "Makes sense. I was last year too. Don't worry. Back-to-back Victors aren't unheard of. Many Districts have had them. You won't get any extra treatment for that. Should Cassia or Mason come back, however, you and I will be spotlighted right alongside them for the next few decades."

He looked sad, and I knew why. He, like me, wasn't proud of winning the Games. We both didn't want to have our lives broadcasted to the world. Sure, we could take on the press for the weeks after the Games and surrounding the Tour, but a few years of recognition would be exposure to old wounds that the Capitol never truly healed.

Rocky held his hand out to me, encouraging, "Let's go. The limo's waiting for us."

I hopped in the limo, and looked at the other two Victors. Both men loved the Games with a passion. Hades Thunder won the 135th Games at 13, becoming his family's 4th Victor. He lead the Careers, and killed 12 other tributes in total, though much more honorably than I did…

The other man was Jacob Gold. He won the Games before I was born, as he won the 131st at 16. I'm not sure how he won, but I really didn't want to find out.

The limo door opened up a little while later, and in walked Annie Lepodolite, the devil who mentored Rocky 2 years ago.

* * *

Mason Lepodolite, Age 18, District 2

* * *

After watching the Reapings for District 1, I was very bored. They looked like your average District 1 babies. The boy obviously didn't want to be there, and the girl seemed like an overconfident carrot. What kind of competition is that?

I thought this as I casually lopped off the head of yet another training dummy. It's gotten easier and easier over the years as my strength grew, and the swords I've been training with have only gotten duller. But it still felt like butter.

"With more enthusiasm, Mason!" My father exclaimed, "If you look like you don't like it, you won't get Sponsors. And if you don't get Sponsors, the other Careers won't like you. And if they don't like you-"

"You die." I finished. "I know, dad, but don't you think this is a little too easy for me? I mean, come on." I poked the dummy next to me for effect, the tip of the sword sinking a few inches. "My strength is unmatchable, plus the Reapings are today. Either we leave now, or we don't get to the Reapings."

"Fine." He sighed. "Let's go then." He pointed to the door, and we made the short trip to the justice building. We were already ready to go before we began "training" this morning, so we didn't have to take any extra time for me to dress into my nice gold suit that I had gotten only a few days before.

The 2 minute walk was in silence, but it wasn't awkward; it was normal for me and my father. Once in the square, I signed in and walked over to the section labeled "18M". And waited.

Luckily, the wait wasn't long, and our escort, Roz, leapt out onto the stage, his blue suit sparkly and barely a week old. He even had a blue wig, glowing blue eyes, and long, blue eyelashes. Even his skin was slightly blue!

"Hello, ladies and gents, and welcome to the Reapings for the 6th Quarter Quell! Before we get started, however, we have a little video presentation." The video was the same every year, and I usually full-on fell asleep around the middle of it. So, I decided to do something a little different.

As the video started, I slowly made my way through the crowd. As I got to the shorter children, I made myself seem physically shorter, so I was on my knees when I got to the 12-year-old kids. As the video finished, I walked up to the stage silently. Roz was looking at the video screen above the girls, so I managed to slip behind him without his notice. Anyone watching was probably going nuts, waiting to sse Roz's reaction. Quietly, I grabbed his mic and moved it towards me.

As he turned to face the crowd, he said, "So inspiring, don't you thi-" He then began to look around for his micro phone.

Before he saw me, I stated, "My name is Mason Lepodolite, younger brother of Annie Lepodolite, Victor of the 142nd Hunger Games at the age of 12. And now, I volunteer as Victor." Roz looked at me stunned, then swiped the mic from me, saying:

"Well, aren't you cocky. I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until I ask for volunteers."

"Okay. I'll wait." When it became apparent that I wasn't leaving, he huffed and stomped over to the other side of the stage, where the female tribute and victor bowls were. He plucked a paper from the tribute bowl, ignoring the Victor bowl and walking to the mic, glaring at me the whole way.

"Our female tribute is: Maia-"

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" Was screamed from the 18 year old girls section. I didn't have to look to see my District partner, Cassia, marching up to the stage, a triumphant grin on her face.

"Okay, then. As expected, a volunteer! What's your name, dear?"

"Cassia Maurise, and I'm going to be District 2's third Victor in a row!"

"Well now, isn't that great! Now for the boys." As he walked in my direction, he shoved me out of the way to get to the bowls, and plucked one name from each of them. He went out of his way to shove me again on his way back, and announced to the world in a bored voice, "Our male tribute is: Ha-"

"Like I said before, I volunteer as Victor. Can we get started now?" I asked.

"Very well." He sighed. "Ladies and gentlemen, your _tributes_ from District 2: Cassia Maurise and Mason Lepodolite." His tone was still flat, like he wasn't excited to be with us on the train. His own loss, I suppose.

With a final wave and an obviously fake smile, he ushered us into the Justice building for our goodbyes. As soon as I sat down in my chair, my father walked in.

"Don't disappoint me." He said. Then he walked out. I knew he'd do that. He expected me to do him proud, and live up to my sister's name. As I waited for the Peacekeepers, I thought about who our mentors could be this year.

For the girls, Moara was a given; she had won the Games a year prior, and when you won, you were automatically forced back to the Capitol for the following year. The Capitolites love it, as seeing their most recent Victor reminds them of their love for the Games.

Our male mentor, however, could be a great number of people. We had nine male Victors alive, and five of the other six had died of old age or disease. The final one, Brutus Stoner, won the 47th Games, but Volunteered for the 75th and took 6th place, after killing his District partner Enobaria Chaet. He was killed by the Victor's sister, Cashmere.

Finally, the Peacekeepers came into the room, and escorted me to the train station behind the Justice Building. There, as predicted, was last year's Victor, Moara Slater. Standing next to her were Roz, Cassia (with a few Peacekeepers holding her), and who I could only guess to be our male mentor, Jacob Gold. He won the 131st Games at 16, by cutting down a lot of tributes.

The other Districts won't stand a chance against this team.

* * *

Cassia Lyra Maurise, Age 18, District 2

* * *

The "final" goodbyes from my friends and family bored me a little. I was off to the Hunger Games, for cryin' out loud! I'd be back after about two weeks, with a crown on my head! I wanted to get it started!

First in were my parents. Their "goodbyes" were simple: they told me how much they loved me, and how proud they were, though the latter was without conviction. That's usually how parents say goodbye in Two. It's become customary over the years.

My sister's goodbye was a little strange. She came in crying, and embraced me tightly before I could react. "I'm so sorry." She said. "I should've been nicer to you. Please come back, Cassi. I love you." And she ran out, still crying. She's 2 years older than me, and yet, she's such a baby.

My final goodbye was the only one I was looking forward to. My best and pretty much only friend, Alexis Sore, walked in. At 17, she was a little shorter than me, and was probably going to volunteer for the 151st. I say "probably" because she isn't super… confident in her ability to win the Games. I've tried to convince her that her skills with a spear were flawless, but, after all these years, she's still doubtful. She never says it out loud, of course, but everyone knows.

"You can do it, Cassi." She said, trying to hold her tears back, "I just know it. You are fast, you are good with traps and spears, and you are wonderful with knives and-"

"Time's up." A Peacekeeper walked in and hauled her out. She didn't even get her whole five minutes! After she was gone, another Peacekeeper came in and took me by the arm. Hauling me out forcefully, he slammed the door behind us and took me down the hall until we had reached the back doors of the Justice Building.

There, our mentors for the year, Moara Slater, who had won the 149th, and Jacob Gold, Victor of the 131st, were waiting. There was also Roz, our stupid escort, and he seemed eager to get on the train. My District Partner grinned at me evilly once he got to the train station.

Refusing to lose focus, I shook myself loose from the Peacekeeper and boarded the train, without looking back. Seconds later, the rest of Two's "team" followed suit. I'm a leader, not a follower.

 **Okay, so there's District 2! I'm sure there are some people out there who want to murder me, but, luckily, you don't know where I live. Well, I hope you don't…**

 **I'm super sorry for taking so long, but I've been super duper busy. When all your classes are the most difficult they can be, that happens.**

 **Questions!**

 **Who's your favorite tribute thus far?**

 **Besides updating more, how may I improve?**

 **Wanna Sponsor? (This'll help me to figure out who's doing what. You don't need to figure out who you're Sponsoring until the Interviews-ish.)**

 **What's your favorite color?**

 **Thanks a bunch guys,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	5. Tech Labs- District Three

**Hello again, peoples! I originally planned on posting Districts 2, 3 and 4 together, but I haven't finished 4 yet and I am waaaaaaay overdue for updates. So, 2 in one day, Yay!**

 **Just another note on Sponsorships: If you need to know anything more, PM me or check out my profile.**

 **You've probably heard of IVolunteerAsAuthor, as he writes a lot of SYOT's, and does a really awesome job. Well, I have a tribute in his newest! *cough* #SupportAmeliaSteele *cough* *cough***

 **I do not own the Hunger Games. Period.**

 **I hope you like Cordin and Infiniti. I think they're awesome.**

* * *

Cordin Bolt, Age 16, District 3

* * *

I fought back a laugh as I slowly stalked away from the woman who was practically interrogating Zela. The woman was clearly distraught, and I knew why. She had caught Zela stealing bread from her store, but the quick and clever 16-year-old handed it to me as I sat under a table. As the large woman chased my friend from the shop, I filled my leather satchel with more food, and snuck out the door.

"Go ahead," Zela was telling the lady, "check my pockets. You won't find anything." The woman complied, and patted her down, upending pockets and opening her jacket. Not finding anything, the woman gave a large _harrumph!_

"I'm sorry, miss." She sighed, "Half the bread from that center table is gone, and you were the closest one to it. Sorry for the misunderstanding."

I looked at Zela's face, and she understood immediately. "It's okay, ma'am. However, that," She pointed at me, "may be the culprit." The woman turned and looked at me, her face looking at my bulging satchel and the smirk on my face.

"Catch me if you can!" I screamed. Turning, I bolted up the street, listening to the shouts and heavy footfalls of the woman pursuing me. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I laughed maniacally.

She chased me up the street, and people turned to watch. They laughed at the sight; a burly woman screaming at the top of her lungs as she chased a lanky boy up the street, a wild look in his eyes and giddy with excitement. Seeing the picture in my head, I laughed harder and sprinted down an alley.

Turning so my back was to a 5-foot fence, I stared at the woman, pretending to seem desperate for an escape route. Grinning, she stalked toward me, a wooden rod in her hand. A few feet away from me, I could see the hate in her eyes. She reared her weapon back to beat me, but before she could begin, I reached behind me, grabbed the top of the fence, and flipped over it.

Her screams tore through the air, and I didn't stop running until I got home. There, on the porch bench, was Zela, her bronze hair levitating in the slight breeze. "What took you so long?" She asked.

"Old lady tried to club me in an alley." I laughed. "Barely got away."

We both laughed for a good few minutes, but then bells could be heard tolling from the Justice Building. "Well, I guess I'd better go." Zela told me sadly. "I'll see you after I'm off work, okay?"

"Okay." I answered, "See ya later, Z." Smiling sadly, she turned around and began jogging to her house, which was a couple blocks away. After she disappeared, I turned and climbed a drain pipe coming off my house, into my bedroom window. There, I made sure the room was empty, and shoved the satchel, filled to the brim with bread, under my bed. Walking over to the dresser, I grabbed the clothes that I had laid out the night before and began getting dressed.

I was still shirtless when a knock came at the door. "Come in!" I shouted.

"Cord, are you done yet? You still haven't eaten and the Reapings are in less than a half hour." My older brother, Binary said as he entered. Binary was the older of my 2 brothers, at 21, and by far my favorite. We always get along well and he's the only one who knows my secret.

"It's okay, Ben. I'm almost dressed and I have plenty of grub for breakfast." I said casually.

He smiled. "What'd you score today, huh? Another pizza?" I shook my head, but smiled at the memory.

"Not this time, but I did pay ol' Ms. Kula a visit."

He gasped. "You stole from the bakery? How- Wait, Zela helped, right?" I only nodded. "Well, congratulations, we'll celebrate after the Reaping, if we don't get publicly executed for being late. Hurry up!" He winked at me and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

As I got dressed, I reflected on how much I truly loved Binary. He was 5 years older than me, but he was the closest I was to out of the whole family, consisting of my dad, Bug, who was 52, my mom, Lumen Kingston, who was 45, Binary, my other brother Gadge, who has the brain capacity of a toddler but had the age of 19, and my only sister, Tabby, who was 13.

My relationship with my father was interesting. Well sort-of. He really was an incredible dad, but I still stole from him. My mother was very protective of me, and I love her very much for that. I have never stolen from her because of those reasons. That, and she makes a mean chocolate cookie. My relationship with Binary is great, he's the only one I've told about my… addictions, and he has always been there for me throughout my life. Gadge is stupid. Tabby is the light of my life. She is the sweetest little girl and I love her so much. I would probably fall into a deep depression if something happened to her.

I smiled as I walked down the stairs of the 2-story house. Noticing nobody was home, I strode over to the door to leave. As I opened the door, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the front room; my nice dress pants and button-down shirt on top of my dark skin, black, curly hair, and brown eyes. Crazy how such a sharply dressed man could be such a talented thief, in it only for the thrill.

As I left the house, remembering to lock the door, I laughed at the ridiculousness that was my life.

* * *

Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3

* * *

I woke up to bright, unfiltered sunlight flowing through my window. Not wanting to get up, I pulled the covers over my head in a desperate attempt to get a few more minutes of sleep. Right as I did, however, my alarm rang, long and loud, letting me know it was 7 o'clock and time to get up. Groaning, I climbed out of my nice, super-comfortable bed and dragged myself to the other side of the room.

I looked up at my large, 3-mirror vanity, inlaid with gold, and smiled. The only reason I had woken up so early was so that I could get ready for the Reapings. I wasn't volunteering or anything, of course, but I had to look my best for the big day. I wasn't afraid of getting Reaped; I had a 3 in 3,979 chance of getting Reaped. That's like, a .075%.

The only reason my chances were so low was because of my parents. Both my parents were well respected engineers, and therefore became extremely wealthy. My mother, Angeliece, began creating extremely useful equipment for all the Districts when she turned 20. She's been doing it for 20 years! My father, Mason, single-handedly developed the technology used in District 5's Turbine Dam 28 years ago at the age of 16. We were so rich, I never had to take out tesserae!

I had just finished getting dressed when I heard a pound at my bedroom door. "Infiniti!" A voice called, "You ready _yet_? Mama says we need to go in a few minutes!"

"Okay, Ry! One sec." I turned away from the door and looked at my reflection in the vanity. My long brown hair seemed curled just right, making the blonde highlights stand out a little more. Today, my eyes were a dark green, which got me a little nervous. The stupid scar running from my right earlobe to my chin was still a light red, even though I got it when I was 14.

Downstairs, the table was already set, Riker gobbling up his pancakes, giant pools of maple syrup surrounding his plate. Mama was at the griddle, making more pancakes. Papa, however, was nowhere to be seen. Figuring he was still at work, I sat down and began attacking my plate.

Before I had even finished, the doorbell rang. Ry got up and answered it, growling in frustration. "Infiniti!" he called, "It's for you!" I got up and walked to the door, where my friends Laci Jaxon and Bo Chips were waiting. Laci and I have been friends for years, ever since kindergarten. Bo's a year older than me, and lives next door.

"Hey Fin." Bo greeted, looking at me closely. "Ready to go? It's my final Reaping, and I'm ready to get it over with." I nodded and passed through the doorway, closing it behind me. Then Bo got serious. "Have you noticed your eye color today?" He asked.

"Why Bo?" Laci asked. "What's today's-"

"Yes, I noticed." I answered. "I was hoping it was my imagination." Bo and Laci seemed worried, and I knew why. My eyes change color from day to day. More often than not, the color "predicts" what will happen. When I was 14, there was a day they were dark green, like that day, and I was in a machine accident, resulting in my scar. A couple years ago, Bo's brother was flogged, and my eyes were dark green that day too. "Forget it." I said. "Let's get this over with, and talk about it later."

* * *

Voltage Nickel, Age 37, District 3

* * *

I sat on the stage in front of the Justice Building, waiting for the Reapings to start. Below me, children one-half to one-third my age were filing into their respective section. Most seemed afraid, others calm. The calm ones knew their chances of getting Reaped were slim, and those who were afraid knew that their chances of getting Reaped and surviving were even slimmer.

I won the 128th Games at the age of 15. Since my Victory, only one child had come home from the Arena alive, and she totally deserved it. However, even _that_ was 17 years ago, when Athena Gizmo won.

Once it seemed as if everyone was filed in, the escort, Harpy Angels, walked on stage. Her bizarre appearance made me forget all about the Reapings and ignore her speech and the video. Apparently, this year, she tried to incorporate as much of the District as possible.

Her torso was covered in computers, phones, tablets, and other entertainment devices. Each one was a different color, make and model. The older ones played older games, and the newer ones had reruns of the Hunger Games, as well as projections of the various District 3 Victors. I recognized Matrix, Beetee, Wiress, Hecate, myself, Athena…

"And now, I shall Reap the tributes who shall be representing District 3 in this year's Hunger Games." Harpy started walked over to the Female bowls, which gave me a good view of her legs, which were wrapped in wires of all different colors, some glowing, some sparking, some perfectly fine.

"Infiniti Reagan!" She called. She waited looking out at the crowd, and I did the same. Finally, in the 17 year old section, a girl was pushed forward. Her white dress shirt was under a grey blazer and skirt, and matching shoes. After being pushed, she seemed to fall out of her shock, and, stone-faced, marched up to the stage.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Harpy asked, her hair forming into a blue question mark. Nobody moved. "Well then. The boys." She walked toward me, and selected a paper from each of the bowls. _Please have potential, please have potential!_

"Cordin Bolt!" Slowly, a boy emerged from the 16 year old section. He looked over to the 16 year old girl section, and seemed angry. Nearly all of them were looking at him, so I couldn't see who he was looking at.

As Harpy announced them, I looked over the boy. He seemed to have a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and his muscled legs made him seem like a fast runner. When Harpy turned them around into the Justice Building, I followed.

"So, Harpy." I whispered. "Who are this year's mentors?"

"Oh my, I haven't looked." She pulled out the two papers. "Let's see. We have the Victors of the 21st and 52nd Games, Matrix Volt and Ingrid Relbot. Looks like you're off the hook this year, Volt. I'll call the President and have them get started."

"Thanks, Harpy." I sighed. "I'm going to miss having you around here. I'm sure the next escort will be more than happy to let two more kids die."

"Well, you know the rules. "Escorts can't be over 40." Looks like I'm literally too old for this." We laughed until she had to get to the train.

* * *

Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3

* * *

In the Justice Building, I sat in a light grey chair adorned in tufts of blue. I stared at the door for what seemed like hours, waiting.

After what felt like forever, the door burst open, and three figures walked in. Two were crying, and the third one was on the verge of tears.

"I'm so sorry, honey." My mother sobbed. "I don't understand! Your chances were near zero! This should never have happened! I'm so sorry!" I didn't know how to respond to that, and decided not to, figuring I'd break into tears too.

"It'll just be a few weeks, Finny." Riker cried. "You can stay alive until then. When you get back, we'll fly kites and-" A fresh wave of tears cut him short.

"Infiniti." My father finally said, tears welling in his eyes. "There are only 25 other people. Chances are, by the end of the first day, only half of them will remain. You can do this. Learn how to survive during training, and then train yourself with a weapon in the Arena. I believe in you." The four of us embraced, and they were ushered out by Peacekeepers.

As soon as they left, Laci and Bo walked in, both of them trying really hard not to cry. Laci gave me a hug, while Bo stood off to the side awkwardly. "You. Can. Do. It. Infiniti." Laci encouraged. "I know you can! You're smart, athletic, pretty- You can take the others by storm!"

"She's right, Fin." Bo added, "We believe in you. We'll try to send you something in the Arena. Until then." He took one big step forward and kissed my cheek, then he continued out the door.

"Oh, sure. Now he admits it." Laci stated, clearly frustrated. She turned and followed him, temporarily forgetting about me.

My cheek still burned from where he touched me.

* * *

Cordin Bolt, Age 16, District 3

* * *

As soon as I sat down, my whole family burst into the room. Tabby ran straight into me, crying. "Please don't go." She kept saying, "Ask them to pick somebody else." She continued to cry, chanting those same words over and over.

Gauge approached me, and I stared at him stone-faced, knowing what was to come. "You're a bloodbath." He said simply. "I hope you're killed by a Career, and they kill you slowly and mercilessly." He laughed at that, until he saw the glare my mother gave him. My parents were clearly afraid to speak, still wishing it was all a dream.

"Cord, I wish I could have volunteered for you, I really do. But apparently, the rules are against volunteering from 21-year-olds. I just want to say good luck. If you put your mind to this, you can win. Just like the bakery this morning." Binary said.

"Time's up!" The Peacekeeper said.

Zela never came. She had too much work to do. The one person I wanted to see most, and the Capitol took even that away from me.

 **So, I kinda wrote this a fair while ago (mostly) and did my best to finish over Thanksgiving break. However, I didn't get as much free time as I would have liked.**

 **I'll try to get D4 up later in the week.**

 **Questions!**

 **Who do you like more?**

 **Who do you think's going down first?**

 **Any ideas for improvements?**

 **Of the current 6 tributes, who'd you most likely Sponsor?**

 **(For Cord and Fin's submitters) Did I do good on your tribute?**

 **What's one thing you'd like to know more about me?**

 **Zai jian! (So long for now in Mandarin)**

 **-Lord Zagreus**


	6. Fish Refineries- District Four

**Hello, hello, peoples of Fanfiction! I know I promised this chapter within the week, but… I swear, I've been busy.**

 **Chapter 5:**

 **Clis2339: You can Sponsor regardless of whether or not the tribute is yours. If you wanted, you could Sponsor Henry or Jasper, you're choice. Oh, and your favorite color's wrong.**

 **We're All Okay: I didn't realize the POV's were so short… but now that you mention it, I do! Turquoise is the wrong answer… Purple, however…**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: I didn't include the mentors (as much) this time. I'm trying something different, and I hope you like it! Dark colors (especially purple) are the best!**

 **dreams and desperation: I'm glad you liked Cassia, and I'm just gonna assume "I guess" means "yes". Blue/green is incorrect, the answer is purple.**

 **TranscendantElvenRanger: I could totally work on detail, and don't worry, I can put down Sponsor gifts as ElvenRangerRysel. Green and Brown are incorrect.**

 **Chapter 6:**

 **Clis2339: I didn't realize until after I posted that I was going so fast. I've tried to slow this one down. You could say I'm sorta multilingual; I was born into an English-speaking household and I take a Chinese class at school.**

 **We're All Okay: I am surprised you like him so much, but I have a feeling you'll like Blue more. (Rina-The-Fangirl, I think We're All Okay's hitting on your tribute). I am in the 9** **th** **Grade.**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: I'm working on making them longer, no worries. I have two brothers and two sisters; my brothers are 12 and 8, and my sisters (who are twins) are both 3, turning 4 in January.**

 **dreams and desperation: I'm 14 until January.**

 **TranscendentElvenRanger: My attempt to completely use the past-tense isn't very good. After all the Reapings, I'll probably refer to the present tense as much as possible. My favorite movie… Probably Avengers: Age of Ultron. (Ultron is by far the best villain ever!)(I haven't seen Mockingjay Pt 2 yet, so…)**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: I'm glad you liked them.**

 **Jayman1919: District 7 should be up in a couple weeks. Also, out of the outer Districts, 9 seems the strongest.**

 **ConflictedMinds: I agree, Cordin may be a challenge. As for Career vs Career, I honestly can't tell you whether it'll reach that or not, for 2 reasons. 1: It would ruin the story and a ton of people would hate me; 2: I am going to be deciding on the spot who'll die in any given situation. I am working on not changing the POV so often.**

 **Wow, that was a lot. Then again, I posted 2 chapters in one hour. For those of you who I said have the "wrong" favorite color, please don't take it seriously, I was joking. They're just not my favorite.**

 **Just a heads up, I came up with most of the Victors, 129 in total, out of 150. Suzanne Collins came up with the other 20. One of the submitters came up with 1. I just made a new story, called Zagreus' Victors. The first chapter was a bit rushed, but I'll do better in the future, I promise.**

* * *

Jasper Blue, Age 16, District 4

* * *

The first quarter of my competition seemed okay, but nothing that couldn't be handled by Jasper Blue of District 4. The girl from One volunteered, but her District partner didn't seem too thrilled about being up on stage. The Twos seemed average; cocky idiots who thought they owned the world. Especially that Mason dude. So what if you're sister won at the age of 12? Doesn't mean you have the skills at 18. Three seemed average: no volunteers, just little kids who were desperate to live, even if one was older than me.

Then again, I'd only started "proper" training at the age of 13. One and Two had probably trained their whole lives, like Esmeralda.

A little bio about me. My mother walked out on me and my father when I was 1. Since then, me and my father had lived in a small village on the edge of the District, fishing for our living. Since I was little, around 5 or so, I had wanted badly to train for the Hunger Games.

The tiny T.V. in our little fishing hut picked up static most of the time, but one summer day when I was 5, the little box picked up just enough audio for me to discover the Games. Intrigued, I begged my father to let me train, as I had heard most of the District does. He told me "no", and I was discouraged for a while, but then decided I'd train myself.

I trained in secret, always when my father wasn't home, and I knew he would be out for the majority of the day. I trained myself with knives, distance and in melee, and also with spears, in melee combat and, well, knowing how to throw them properly had been drilled into my head since before I started my routines.

For the next 8 years I trained, without being found out. However, when I was 13, during the 147th Games, I was sitting on the couch, flipping a knife through the air, watching what I could on the T.V. Through all the static, I heard that the boy from my District, Riptide, was killed by his little 13-year-old District Partner, Kayla. In shock, I temporarily forgot about the knife, and it came down, its sharp, sparkling blade cutting into my palm. Panicking at the amount of blood leaving my body, I got it wrapped and put ice on it, and went to lie down. However, I forgot about the blood.

Long story short, my dad came home, saw the blood, put two and two together, found me sleeping with a cut hand. I woke up to a scolding, and the next morning I snuck out, knowing that he'd have hidden my training supplies. Clear of the shack, I fled to the largest city in Four, Coral City, where the District's main Training Center was. Since then, I'd been training with the big boys.

I got off the couch and stretched, working the kinks in my back and neck. The Coral City Training Center for the Talented had nice leather couches, and beautiful Crystalline 3-D Delta Projectors, only the latest from District 3. Once, the CTC was known as the Sean Jackson Games Center, after our first Victor, but the name was changed 75 years ago when it could be proved that before he died he was part of the second rebellion, working with our second Victor, Mags Cohen.

As I left my room, I thought about our fairly short list of Victors. Over all the 149 years, we had had only 15 Victors, putting us in fourth place. Yes, I did say fourth. We are behind, obviously, District 2, with 30, District 1, with 18, and, wait for it… District 7, with 16. Stupid District 7 had more Victors than us! Had Kayla not won the 147th, the President would have probably shut down the CTC!

Luckily, Kayla won, much to everyone's astonishment, but Seven's most recent Victory was only the 144th, and so our Districts had become rivals… sort of.

I was ripped from my thoughts when I could hear a voice greeting me to my right. "Hey, Coraline." I smiled. Coraline was the first person I had met when I arrived in the city, and we became best friends really quickly. She had been training since she was 7, but she wasn't very good at much of anything. She was the only one I had told.

"Ready to go?" She asked me. I only nodded.

We walked to the city square in silence, and I knew what was on both of our minds: Esmeralda and Tycho were going to volunteer; death would be better than meeting them in an alley. Once we reached the square, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Wish you were going in today, pipsqueak?" Tycho breathed over my shoulder. I had to try really hard not to gag at his garlic breath. "Sad you have to wait another two years?"

"It's not my fault they prefer 18-year-olds." I answered dryly.

"Well, I hope you I don't have to mentor you're scum in two years." He continued. "Maybe I'll get lucky, and you'll die of stupidity before the 152nd Reapings can even start. I'm gonna be a _Quell_ Victor, y'know."

"Yeah, Tycho." I said as Coraline and I walked away. After signing in, we parted and got in line. After a minute, our escort, Seaweed, hopped out on stage, to ask for the volunteers for the 150th Hunger Games.

* * *

Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn, Age 18, District 4

* * *

Since I began training, I've been glad that I live so close to the CTC, so I don't have to stay there for weeks at a time. It's not that I hate being away from home, it's just that it's so dreadfully boring.  
Most people in the CTC stay longer than the required hours. There are the orphans, who decided to train to get the money to get off the streets, and then there's people like me, who live close enough to leave the place for a break, even if we just continue to train at home. Then, there are the "year-rounders," who live too far away to go home, like Tycho. I hate Tycho.

He and I competed for the top ranking in our age group for years. Other kids, after realizing they couldn't compete, volunteered early, only to die. Tycho bested me in almost everything, and then boasted about it. Since I was 13, I knew he would enter the Arena with me.

When I was 15, a boy named Jasper showed up to the CTC, with barely enough money for admission. When he proved he knew a few things about combat, choosing to take on Halibut and almost winning, Tycho jumped off of my back and onto his, which I was (almost) grateful for.

But that's not what I'm here to talk about, is it? No, you want to hear about every little detail from the morning of the Reapings.

Well, I woke up that morning in my home, which was only about a block from the CTC and the Justice Building. A few weeks prior, the trainers at the CTC had decided who would be volunteering for the Games, and, naturally, I had been chosen.

I awoke to my alarm, and, after years of disciplinary training, practically jumped out of my bed like my life depended on it. Outside, the sun was shining, and from my window, I could see the CTC, a large building rising above the city. I'm sure that that's the tallest building in Panem.

Ignoring the rest of my large bedroom, I walked into my closet, which I'm sure is as big as a whole house in District 12, and filled to the brim with dresses, high heels, and other types of clothing. In the center of the room, in a glass case, was my Reaping outfit. I opened up the case, threw it on, and went to examine myself in a floor-to-ceiling mirror.

The short red dress reached halfway down my thighs. The silky material shimmered when I moved, catching light from every angle. The small straps left as much of my shoulders bare as possible. Bending over, I strapped on my five inch high heels.

"Rosalyn!" I called toward the door as I sat on a cushioned stool in front of the mirror. "Get in here!"

"Yes, Mera?" She questioned with a huge grin as she opened the door. Rosalyn is my little sister, who was just old enough for her first Reaping. She looks exactly like me, only her black hair is far shorter, her green eyes a little duller.

"Do my hair. I need to look good for the reaping. Here're some beads," I handed her the red beads that matched my dress, "Get to work." Rose smiled and did as she was told.

As she went to town on my hair, I gazed at myself in the mirror. My 116 pound, lithe, strong body stared back. Me emerald green eyes, which got me my name, were practically glowing. My lips, full and sultry, were almost bent in a smile. Behind me, Rose was still working on my long, curly black hair that reached down my body to the stool I was sitting on. Most people wonder why I'd let Rose of all people do my hair, as most weren't allowed to touch it, because Rosalyn had autism.

It was a common fact, and people treated her differently because of it, but it had never phased me. I mean, I've never shown it out in public, because the guys love a hot woman who looks down at everyone, but out of the sight of others, me and Rose are actually really good friends. Plus, even with the autism, she's really good at doing up all forty two inches of my hair.

"Rosalyn! Mera!" My father called from downstairs, "time to go!" Rose hurried to finish up, and we walked downstairs to the living room.

My mother, Yula, was sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of the room, reading one of her old-time novels, not paying attention to what was around her. That was expected, though. My father, Jokah, was standing by the door, waiting for his two little girls to show up. His stone cold face stared at me, probably trying to imagine me as the son he had always wanted to have volunteer for the Games. Sadly, a girl was the best he got. As we walked out the door, Mother got up and followed silently.

Once we got to the Justice Building, Rose and I signed in, and went to our respective sections. In most Districts, the twelve-year-old batch is afraid, but Rose got in line with that goofy grin on her face. I shuffled through the eighteen-year-old section, the boys on the opposite end of the aisle practically staring at me, until I found who I was looking for.

"Hey Keira!" I shouted when I saw her. Keira Morx is my best friend, and her brother has been my mentor at the CTC since he won the Games. Well, he was supposed to be my mentor, but…

"Hey, Mera! Excited for today?" She asked.

"Duh." I rolled my eyes, "How's Orca?" Orca is Keira's older brother, who won the 139th Games when he was 13. Since his Victory, he's been a tad bit… off.

"Right." She started, her eyes actually dimming, "He tried to kill me this morning, thinking I was the girl from Ten. Winning at thirteen clearly took its toll on him."

"Yeah, I…" was then interrupted by Seaweed as he came on stage.

"Welcome, people of District 4! Who's ready for the sixth Quarter Quell?" Cheering followed, though some people were doing it half-heartedly. "Well, I'm here to pick the tributes for this year! For those who want to volunteer, keep in mind that only the 16, 17 and 18 year olds are eligible this year. Let's see who our lady is!" He walked over to the girls' bowl, but something was missing. "Keira Morx!" A cry came from the stage, and I realized that Orca must have purged the alcohol from his body before the Reaping.

Keira started walking toward the aisle, shooting me a side glance, perfect calm on her features. She was just mounting the steps when I literally sang, "I volunteer!"

I walked up the aisle, giving Keira a hug as she walked back to where she had previously been standing. "I almost thought you weren't gonna do it." She told me.

I continued to walk up to the stage, swinging my hips like they do on _District One: The Beauties_. When I was finally standing next to Seaweed, he exclaimed, "Why hello, gorgeous! What's your name?"

"Esmeralda Annalise Dawn, but you can call me Mera." I said with a little giggle. Seaweed shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "Well, now for the boys."

* * *

Jasper Blue, Age 16, District 4

* * *

Esmeralda gave the crowd the same show everyone from the CTC was expecting her to give. She rehearsed it over and over and she got it just right. Good for her.

Seaweed plucked papers from the two bowls on the left side of the stage. He opened one of them and opened his mouth. _Now or never_. I thought.

"Jason Grotto!" He called.

From the 18-year-old and 16-year-old sections, two distinct voices called out, "I volunteer!" However, I was already halfway to the stage by the time Tycho realized he'd already lost, so he didn't even bother. His glare was priceless, though.

"Hello." Our escort said, looking me over, "And what's your name?"

"Jasper Blue." I answered.

"Well, isn't that wonderful!" He proclaimed. "District 4, your tributes for the 150th Hunger games and 6th Quarter Quell, Esmeralda Dawn and Jasper Blue!" Cheers erupted from the crowd, everyone happy for one reason or another. Except Tycho. "Come along, kids." Seaweed said, ushering us into the Justice Building and into the grasp of two Peacekeepers. One grabbed my left forearm, the other Esmeralda's, and led us to opposite ends of the building.

I was sitting in my chair, trying to figure out who would visit me. Coraline, obviously. My father might, if he hadn't forgotten my name. Other than that…

The door opened, and, as expected, Coraline walked in, a smile on her face. "That was great! Excited?" She asked.

"Yeah." I answered. "After all, 'There's no better year to volunteer than a Quell,' right?"

"Right. Did you notice anything missing from the reapings?" She asked.

"I noticed something was missing, but I couldn't figure it out."

"Me neither. Have you seen Tycho? He's out there right now, throwing a fit. Don't worry, I told the PeaceKeepers not to let him in." I laughed, imagining how my archenemy must be feeling. After a few minutes, a Peacekeeper grabbed Coraline and left, but not before she wished me 'good luck.'

I waited a minute, and Dad burst in, a wild look in his eyes. "Why?" he asked me, "Why did you do this? You could die out there, y'know. I haven't so much as heard from you in years, and suddenly you're a tribute in the Hunger Games? What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that, had you allowed me to continue training, I never would have left in the first place. However, I did, and am therefore ready to compete in the Quarter Quell. You got a problem with that?"

"Just-" He paused. "Please don't die." And he turned and left.

I got up, figuring I had no more visitors, but the door opened again, and a woman walked in. She looked vaguely familiar, but I just couldn't put my finger on it.

"Hello, my child." She said softly.

* * *

Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn, Age 18, District 4

* * *

Jasper really did it; he stood up against Tycho and turned out victorious. I don't really care, I hate Tycho anyway. I would much rather Jasper in a District partner.

I was sitting in the room that stupid Peacekeeper shoved me into. Keira had already visited, encouraging me to come home. I was just waiting for my family, and then, chances were, I'd be on my way.

After an eternity and a half, the three of them finally came in. Rosalyn ran in and gave me a big hug, "Come back soon, okay?" Her eyes asked for confirmation, and I nodded. "Have a lot of fun, Mera." She smiled and gave Mother a hug. Looking at her, she seemed to be having one of those moments where she looks eighty instead of forty-six. Her beautiful face, which is why my father married her, was streaked with silent tears.

My father put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid." Was all he said.

* * *

Halibut Odair, Age 25, District 4

* * *

I really hate my lineage. I am the second Odair to win the Hunger Games, ever. Oh, many of us have been in the Games, my uncle, two of my cousins and my older brother are all examples of this. However, because of our ancestor, Finnick Odair, who was part of the Second Rebellion, the Gamemakers always seem to get us killed, whether we volunteered or not.

I won the 140th Games when I was 15. My family members before me who went into the Games never lasted long, because they paired with the Careers, who were promised automatic Victory. So, I decided to fight the same way Finnick did; catching people in nets and spearing them with a trident. Worked pretty well for me.

I was just getting up from my seat on stage when Seaweed (who changed his name to sound "cool") stepped in front of me. "Guess what? You're mentoring this year. I've already called in to have Kinzie… You know." Great, I was mentoring. That wasn't on my mind, though.

"Do you value your life, Seaweed?" I asked. "Do you feel you are on good terms with the President?"

"Well sure." He said hesitantly, "What's wrong?"

"You went through the Reapings too fast." I stated, "You forgot the Treaty video. I wish you luck, really." His face paled as I turned to board the train.

* * *

Kinzie Wrasse, Age 112, District 4

* * *

I woke up peacefully from my sleep, and looked around the room again. Seeing I was in Capitol Victor Labs, I sat up and smiled. Looks like another year I get to use to help a tribute best the Arena. How exciting!

I won the 54th Games when I was 16, and I loved every second of it. I charged through the Arena like a hurricane, demolishing all the other tributes. The Career alliance (made by me) consisted of me, the boy from 3, and the pairs from 7 and 11. Half the "usual" Career alliance was killed in the bloodbath, thanks to me. The only bloodbath survivors besides the people in my alliance were the pair from One, the pair from Six, the girls from Eight and Ten, and the boy from Twelve. The Games lasted five days.

"Good day, Ms. Wrasse. Is there anything I can-"

"What year is it?" I asked the lady in the white labcoat.

"The 150th, miss. The 6th Quarter Quell!" Funny, seeing as how I died of old age in the 5th.

"Thanks." I said, almost honestly. "What're my tribute's stats this year?" I wasn't new to the whole "reawakening" thing; I'd done it when Halibut won. After all, I did mentor him.

"Here's the file, Ms. Wrasse." She handed me a manila envelope, and I read.

 **Jasper Blue**

 **16**

 **Male**

 **Volunteered two years earlier than he was supposed to, replacing Tycho Larsen as District 4's male tribute. Has been professionally trained for 3 years, and unprofessionally, since the age of 5.**

I threw the file on the floor. "Stupid idiot!" I screamed.

* * *

 **Okay, so there's District 4. Before you scream at me, my computer crashed and I lost everything. I honestly meant to update weeks ago, but we needed to get me a new one. I will hopefully get District 5 up Friday or Saturday.**

 **Questions!**

 **On a scale of 1-10, how badly do you hate me right now?**

 **Which tribute was your favorite?**

 **What are your thoughts towards the way I introduced the Victors?**

 **~For Percy Jackson fans~**

 **Who is your godly parent?**

 **Who is** _ **my**_ **godly parent?**

 **My current Sponsors are:**

 **ElvenRangerRysel**

 **We're All Okay**

 **Mystical Pine Forest**

 **dreams and desperation**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl**

 **Anybody else? If I missed you, let me know.**


	7. Power Plants- District Five

**Hello, hello, people of the internet! I am Lord Zagreus, and I am here to present to you the Reapings for District 5! Yay!**

 **I do not own the Hunger Games. That's Suzanne Collins' stuff. Not mine.**

 **I just wanted to make note, I am going to start keeping track of Sponsor Points after the District 13 Reapings are done. If you'd like to help keep a tribute alive, just let me know who you'd like to Sponsor, and I'll keep track of your points and your tribute. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO SPONSOR A TRIBUTE YOU CREATED!**

 **Reviews:**

 **HufflePuffleJay: Don't worry, I don't plan on giving up. I shall see this through. Hopefully, now that the Career Districts are over, I can update more often. That's my hope.**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: Athena's interesting. I can't control water though… sort of…**

 **dreams and desperation: I'm glad you liked the chapter! I hope you like 5 too.**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: I'm glad you don't hate me… Don't worry, Blue's cliff-hanger will be… unhanged? When we see him next… May be a while, though.**

 **We're All Okay: I'm glad you liked Mera, even if she isn't your tribute. First child of Apollo I've heard. I have some Hermes traits, but… that's not me.**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: Thanks for being honest, I will do my best to update more, I swear.**

 **Nightmares Are Dreams Too: I'm glad you like my writing so much, I hope I did Devon okay. I hadn't even considered Khione.**

 _ **My godly parent:**_

 **Hecate, Goddess of Magic, Crossroads, Ghosts, and Necromancy. You people really know anything about me.**

 **S'far as I know I have no further announcements.**

* * *

Darius Line, Age 17, District 5

* * *

It was hard keeping up my stone cold expression as I wove through the Sector 7 Graveyard. I was looking for a specific tomb, the same one I had visited every day for the past few months.

As the stone I was looking for was one of the more recent, I didn't pass many tombs looking. Inscribed in the rock were the words:

 **Vince Line**

 **August 23, 114 A.D.D.**

 **March 4, 150 A.D.D.**

 **A loving husband and father,**

 **who will always be in**

 **our hearts.**

In case you were wondering, yes, Vince is my father. My parents loved each other since they pretty much first met 19 years ago. However, around the time the 149th Games came to a close, everything went downhill. They started arguing, a lot more than the usual two-minute fight-and-make up they had every once in a while. They'd only fight when they thought I was asleep, but I heard the nasty words that flew to my room from the kitchen.

When I asked them about it, they'd tell me that "Everything's fine," and "We have no idea what you're talking about." However, I know a failing or doomed relationship when I see one. A few months after the Victory tour, I was in school when I was called down to the office, but I was confused; I hadn't done everything wrong.

The principal had a hard time breaking it to me. I mean, it's very difficult to tell a 17-year-old boy that his father, whom he loved very much, had hung himself with a belt in his closet after finding his wife in bed with a Peacekeeper.

Since then, I've gone to the sector's graveyard on a daily basis, if only to talk to my father, feel some connection.

I sat down next to my father's final resting place, my back against the stone structure. "Oh, dad." I said, "Help me get past the Reaping today. It's almost over, just two more years. Please." I sat there, not sure what I was waiting for. After a while, I got up and left, headed home to get ready.

I walked through the back door, hoping to avoid the voice that greets me every day. Unfortunately, it rang through the kitchen. "Morning, Darius. How are you today, sweetie?"

Suppressing a groan, I brushed past her and hurried to my room, where, on my bed, was the same outfit I wore to Dad's funeral.

After throwing them on, I walked downstairs to where my mother was. "You look wonderful!" She said. Immediately, I walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. If Terra likes it, it has to be undone.

First I grabbed the white button up shirt from where it was tucked in my pants, and pulled out one side. I then proceeded to uncuff my wrists, and screw up my black hair, so it pretty much covered my dark blue eyes. It seemed the only thing I didn't mess with was my pale, 6'1", lanky figure.

Ignoring Terra, I strode to the door and out into the bright District 5 sunlight, and walked to my friend, Rana's house.

Rana is a year older than me, and she became my friend even after I pushed all my other friends away when Dad died. She came to me, and we started talking, laughing, and even pranking other people in the District, especially the Peacekeepers.

As I walked up to her door, she opened it and walked toward me. "Hey, Dar." She said casually, gesturing for me to follow her to the Justice Building. "Excited for today?"

"More or less." I shrugged. "The whole day off at the plant and at school. I'm a little nervous though. Something just… doesn't feel right." I sighed, relieved to get it off my chest.

"I agree. Something's in the air." She then asked, "How's Terra?"

"Annoying as always." I answered as we got to the square. We got in line, and before I knew it, it was my turn to sign in.

"Next." The Peacekeeper at the table gestured with his hand.

"Don't tell me what to do." I said, giving him my arm.

He took the sample, signing me into the network, and said, "Well, well, well. Darius Line, the little Peacekeeper gnat. Go get in line, Line." He waved me to the 17-year-old boys' section, a smirk on his face.

* * *

Devon Cynthia Rose, Age 17, District 5

* * *

Based off the stars above District Five, the cries from down the hall woke me up at about 5 in the morning. Groaning, I got out of my bed and walked in the direction of the cries. Opening the door, I heard, "Mommy!"

I crossed the room and plucked the 2-year-old from his bed, cradling him in my arms. "Good morning, Ori. I'm never going to get a good night's sleep, huh?" My dear child just looked up at me, seeing nothing but his loving mother.

Sitting in my makeshift rocking chair, I rode back and forth, trying to get Ori to sleep. His blue eyes reflected mine, but his fiery red hair, a gift from his father, was bright and curly, what little there was. Much unlike my long brunette locks.

When I was 14, I was sexually assaulted by head peacekeeper Darius Thunder, a few days after his wife passed away. He threatened me, telling me to make sure I didn't tell anyone, and so I didn't. But to make sure I kept my pledge, he seemed to be near whenever I left the house, and, once in a while, he'd walk up to me, almost renewing his threats.

A little after I turned 15, I realized I was pregnant, and, unable to hide it, my parents kicked me out of the house in disgust. Using the little money I had saved, I bought me a little shack a few miles from my family, where the only interruption in my life were my few friends, and Darius' threats.

Smiling down at my precious little jewel, I put him back into his waiting bed and went to my own, falling asleep.

The dream came to me again as it had for the previous few nights. I was in the square with Ori, 3 days before the Reapings.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Darius approach me. His white uniform, with many medals and stars, is the only clear thing in a sea of colorless fog. He approaches me, a glint in his dark eyes. He grabs my arm, and starts to haul me through the crowd.

Not wanting to go with him, I screamed and tried to run, but he held firm. He smiled at me evilly, and I lost it. Shifting Ori to the arm Darius was holding, I reared back my right hand and punched him square in the nose.

He looked at me shocked, and I turned and fled. He called after me, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. I looked up at the Justice Building, and the bell above the tower started ringing.

I woke with a start, realizing that the bells were _the_ bells, signaling the short amount of time left before the Reapings. I jumped out of bed and got ready for the event. As I walked down the hallway to get Ori, I checked myself in the little mirror on the wall.

The simple black dress that reached my knee, a maroon sash around my waist. The dress's a little worn out, but it's all I had. I wore combat boots as always, and my hair was in a very messy bun, some strands falling in my face.

The door to Ori's room had a piece of paper on it, reading:

 _Dev, I grabbed Ori while you were sleeping, because Jaq and I were by your house for the morning jog. I'll see you after the Reapings. –Fiona_

Smiling, I put the note back on the door and left for the Justice Building, on the way there, I waved to my neighbors, who looked away as soon as they saw me. In their minds, getting pregnant before you're out of the Reapings makes you cursed or something, but everybody in the District treats me that way, so I'm used to it.

By the time I finished the silent stroll to the Justice Building, the escort was giving closing remarks about the rebellion video, and introducing the Victors. I hurried to sign in.

* * *

Darius Line, Age 17, District 5

* * *

"Now, let us remember our Victors for District 5." Dole was saying up on stage. "The 26th Games: Matt Electrode. As the 1st District Victor, he gave hope for future tributes. The 49th Games: Eila Flame. At 17, she won her first Games. At 43, she was Reaped for the 75th Games, and placed 13th, lasting 2 more days than her Partner."

The list has been the same since I went to my first Reaping, and I know all our Victors by name, but I listened anyway, "The 59th Games: Xander Knight. Reaped for the Quarter Quell, he gave his life trying to get to the Cornucopia while the girl from 12 was distracted. May you rest in last place. The 90th Games: Kylee Turbine." An old woman stood up on stage, "You won your Games at the age of 13, making you the youngest Victor for District 5. Good job. The 101st Games: Umeka Heron. After the Quell, much was expected of you in the Arena, and you delivered. Congratulations on your Victory. Fosca Beralia, you won the 127th Games, after losing two siblings to the Fifth Quarter Quell. Your family has finally been honored, after the disappointment of your siblings." The 40-year-old woman looked like she wanted to strangle Dole, and I understood. Ignoring the glares from the Victors, she continued, "And finally, in the 136th Games: Alkaline Watt. May we break the 14-year losing streak, and bring home a Victor." She smiled and walked over to the girls' bowls, shoving her hand to the bottom of the tributes' for effect.

Walking over to the microphone, she announced, "The female tribute to represent District 5 is: Devon Rose!" A woman about my age slowly emerged from the girls' section. Her face was expressionless all the way up to the stage, and only faltered when a shrill, young voice flew over the square.

"That's my mommy!" It giggled. The girl searched the crowd for who must've been her child, but her eyes widened when she found something. Turning, I saw a peacekeeper, his red hair brighter than the sun, winking at her with a cruel smile.

"Now, the boys." Dole walked to the boys' bowls, grabbing a paper from each, and returning to the mic. "Darius…" I didn't even listen to the rest, I was already up on the stage, looking at the crowd. The Peacekeepers were laughing, and I realized they had rigged the bowls to get rid of me. Anger boiled in my stomach, and I roughly shook Devon's hand, her face full of fear. Her innocent face, which was probably also rigged in the bowls, silenced that anger as quickly as it came.

* * *

Devon Cynthia Rose, Age 17, District 5

* * *

 _Oh, dear God, I'm going into the Hunger Games!_ I thought, _What's going to happen to Ori, should I die? Is there even a chance of me surviving the Arena? And why on earth did my District partner's name have to be Darius?_

Before I had the chance to contemplate further, the door slowly opened, and Fiona came into the room, Ori in her arms. She rolled over beside me, and placed Ori in my open arms. With tears in her bright green eyes, she said, "The Peacekeepers don't know I brought him in, so you can have him after I leave. Dev, I-" She choked up, and I understood why. She wished she could have volunteered to save me. We had known each other since we were five, and she had always wanted to be a Victor, but the Quell stopped her, as well as her legs.

When we were fourteen, she fell off a climbing wall she had made in her backyard, paralyzing her lower body. Had she been able to, she would have volunteered for me, and been the most beautiful Victor from Five, rivaling even those from District One.

"It's okay, Fi." I told her. "I can win this. I'm can sneak around, and we both know just about every berry there is. Plus, I've got wonderful friends and," I choked, "A wonderful son." We both looked at Ori, and he smiled, having no idea what was going on. I continued to stare at him, and Fi eventually left. After a moment, the door opened again.

I finally looked up, and saw the rest of my friends, Thalia, Elliot, Gio, and Hannah. She was smiling, as usual, though I could tell it was forced. Elliot had a blank expression, which we all called his "geek face." He always had it on when he was thinking hard, his satchel usually at his side. The poor kid should've been born in Three. Without realizing it, he was staring at Gio, his attempt-at-a-secret crush. Gio was looking at me with tears in his eyes, which were pretty much obscured by his giant glasses. Hannah finally stepped over to me, the usual look of fury in her eyes.

"You can get through this, Dev." She said, "I know you can. You've been through worse, truly. Remember that, okay?" I nodded, and she stepped back, prodding Gio forward. It reminded me of stories Elliot had told me, of peasants giving gifts to the queen.

"She's right, Dev. You're the toughest girl I know, not to mention pretty." The mostly-in-the-closet gay boy's voice had a slight lisp, because of the braces he needed but couldn't afford. "You could probably get half the Capitol behind you, if you-"

"Play the "poor me" card." Elliot interrupted, an apologetic look fleeing to Gio, who only nodded. "Explain what happened in the interviews. Talk about what your parents did to you. Tell them about Ori. They'll want to keep you alive until the top Eight, if only to get mad at the ones who did you wrong."

"And not to mention, to meet Ori!" Thalia piped up. "They meet him, and they'll want to see him year after year, with you! They'll-"

"Time's up!" A Peacekeeper said, entering the room. He grabbed the girls, who took Ori with them. I kissed him goodbye and ushered him to the girls and Gio. Elliot hesitated, and turned toward me.

In a whisper, he said, "I think I'll tell him today. About the crush." He pulled something out of his satchel, and handed it to me. "You can have this as your token. It should pass, and UGGH." He grunted as a Peacekeeper yanked his arm.

I smiled as I looked down at my songbook, with the lullabies I sang to Ori.

* * *

Darius Line, Age 17, District 5

* * *

I stood in the waiting room, staring out the window. The anger that held me for the previous months had dissipated as soon as I met that girl's eyes. Something about the innocence, the fear even… I could use that to my advantage.

I knew the Peacekeeper who was winking at my District Partner. He was Darius Thunder, Head of the Peacekeepers of District Five. He was at the top of my least of favorites, because of rumors that he was the one who led my father to hang himself. His wife had died years back, and apparently couldn't live without a companion. He's still not married.

 _But,_ I wondered in the nearly blank white room, _what does Devon have to do with him?_

On the outer edge of my voice, I faintly heard Rana, saying, "Terra went home crying. Can you believe her?" When I didn't respond, she added, "Look, Darius, I'm sorry. But listen. Your moth-Terra-won't have any money holding her up, because you won't take her to the Victor's Village, right?"

Then it hit me. "He raped her." I mumbled.

"What, Darius? I couldn't hear you."

"He raped her!" I said, louder, "He raped my District Partner, Rana! She has a child! Do you know what this means?" She looked at me blankly, and I continued, "Darius Thunder, Head Peacekeeper, forced my mother to sleep with him! It's his fault my dad's dead!" I was screaming now.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no…" Tears welled in her eyes.

"Tell her I'm sorry, Rana, please! Tell her I didn't know! Tell her I love her!" She barely had time to confirm that she would before Darius Thunder himself towed her away.

* * *

Fosca Beralia, Age 40, District 5

* * *

I was just getting up from the stage when Dole approached me, a slip of paper in hand. "Oh, great." I said, "Me again, huh?" I glared, knowing full well he had nothing to do with me getting chosen to Mentor for the eighth year in a row. He only nodded. "That's good, I suppose." I sighed, and led the way into the Justice Building.

"Maybe you'll have better luck this year, eh, Fosca?" He asked, putting his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged him off, still mad about what he said about Kasen and Meilin. He looked hurt, but quickly look to the door to our left, where screaming could be heard.

"He raped my District Partner, Rana! She has a child! Do you know what this means?" A pause. "Darius Thunder, Head Peacekeeper, forced my mother to sleep with him! It's his fault my dad's dead!" The Peacekeeper by his door, whom I knew for a fact was Darius Thunder, turned into the room.

* * *

Matt Electrode, Age 142, District 5

* * *

Finally, I awoke from the nightmare. It happened every time they re-killed me, which of course they only call "hibernation." I see the blood, the faces. I hear the screams. Every child I mentored. Every one died, all but two.

Working the kinks in my neck, I slowly sat up. Each year it got easier, it was almost as if I expected it. I looked down at myself, and saw the same, eighteen-year-old who walked out of the Arena in the 26th Hunger Games. Looking around, I saw a few other tables. Counting, I realized there were twelve tables, including my own. I saw one from One, labeled _Gloss Xerces_ , two from Three, labeled _Matrix Volt_ and _Ingrid Talbot._ I smiled, knowing full well that my best friend was under one of those sheets. To my immediate left, I saw the lump from Four stir. I craned my neck to see the headboard, which read _Kinzie Wrasse_. I shuddered. To my right was Kiara Enygma from Six, and then Lily Jeng from Seven. Above the next two tables, the words _Cecelia Furse_ and _Velvet Furse_ were inscribed. I winced. Gloss himself killed Cecelia. That wasn't going to go over well.

A nurse walked in, and said something to me, but I wasn't listening. Next to the pair from Eight were Harvest Summer from Nine, and Slatia Mist from Twelve.

I looked at the lump of Slatia. She and I were actually good friends. Last I saw, she was alive. Then again, she was eighty then.

* * *

 **Guys, I am so, so sorry! I promised two over Winter Break, but I honestly couldn't find the time. I've been sick a lot, and I forgot to take my computer when we went out of town.**

 **On the bright side, Five's done, and I feel I did a really good job! Hopefully, the updates will come faster when I get through the Reapings.**

 **Questions!**

 **Who's your favorite D5 tribute?**

 **Who's your favorite D5 Victor?**

 **Favorite tribute?**

 **What do you think will happen to the tributes of 5? Bloodbath? Top 3?**

 **How many people do you think will die in the Bloodbath? Who do you think, out of the current tributes, will? (If you submitted a Bloodbath, don't give it away!)**

 **If you were in the Games, what would you do in the Bloodbath?**

 **Thank you to Nightmares Are Dreams Too and grimbutnotalways for Dev and Darius. I shall have fun killing at least one of them. (laughs maniacally)**

 **Stay strong, Lord Z**


	8. Train Stations- District Six

**Hello, hello again, peoples! I am still Lord Zagreus, here to announce the tributes of District 6! Woohoooo! I have about a zillion excuses for my absence, and at least half of them are true.**

 **But first, let's give a round of applause to our reviewers, for District 5!**

 **Nightmares Are Dreams Too: I'm glad I did such a good job with Dev, I think she deserves it. Honestly, I think she could go far, if the Capitol (Fanfiction) loves her enough.**

 **dreams and desperation: It was rather ironic, wasn't it? I didn't even mean for Dev and Darius to have bad history with the same man, yet, here we are. You say you'd kill, but I'd get to you first.**

 **MushtcheNinja29: Thanks! Glad to hear from you.**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: If you'd like me to kill one of your tributes for Devon, go ahead. All I ask is that you PM it to me, and don't get mad if I don't do it.**

 **grimbutnotalways: So glad to hear from you, it's been awhile! (Then again, I haven't been heard from in 2 months, but, y'know…)**

 **I don't own the Hunger Games franchise. I am simply a fan of it, writing fiction about it, hence the site name, "FanFiction." Whoever came up with this site is a genius.**

 **I have a zillion excuses for my absence, only half of which are true. The whole story is in the Author's note, which, whether you want to hear it or not, needs to be read.**

 **Again, please read the author's note at the end of the chapter, it's kind of important.**

 **Thanks to ElvenRangerRysel and HufflePuffleJay for Aran and Jetta.**

Jetta Carter, Age 17, District 6

The slight breeze outside of District Six whistled over the tracks leading from Forter's Station to the Capitol and Districts Five and Seven. It was the morning of the Reaping, and I really didn't care.

Don't get me wrong, I was nervous about the Reaping, like everybody else. It always hangs over the District, as, out of 298 kids, only seven ever came out of the Arena alive.

Don't ask me why, but on the morning of the Reapings for the 6th Quarter Quell, I was nervous, and decided to inspect the tracks, to calm my nerves.

Maybe it was because I was within the small age group that was eligible. Maybe it was because I had decided to take out tesserae. Or, maybe, it was because I had been caught giving away food. By a Peacekeeper.

I come from a wealthy merchant family. (You know, compared to most in Six.) From a very young age, I began to feel bad for the people of the Districts. I saw someone murdered for the little bread they had. I saw people flogged to the verge of death because they were too weak to work. Heck, someone from Forter's was mugged and jailed the night before the Reapings!

I saw all this, and hated myself. I hated the full plate of food I got three times a day. I hated the dress that I was forced to wear every Reaping, whether I was in it or not, like the white, thin-strapped dress I seemed to wear every year. I suspected my mother got me a new set each year to fit my tall, now 5'11", and thin frame.

In all this, I began giving away most of the food I ever received when I turned five. The locals were grateful, which made me feel good. The Peacekeepers were suspicious, but I always claimed that they had helped me repair rails. I always got away with it.

Mostly anyway.

But more on that later. The morning of the Reaping, I was half-heartedly inspecting the length of track, but mostly staring at the countryside that most people in Panem would never see. The animals were graceful, the plant life elegant. It was by a miracle I heard the train coming.

It started as a slight hum over the steel tracks, barely noticeable. However, it quickly increased in bravado, and I barely had time to leap out of the way before a flash of silver flew by in a roar of energy and grace. Spinning around, I hurried back to the station, where the escort had probably already arrived.

The station was deserted, except for my friend Trax Ellis and his little sister Cargo, who were playing around while sweeping the upper platform. An overhead T.V. was showing the Recaps of Five's Reapings. Hypnos and Mako were attempting to determine which tribute would live longer.

"Jetta!" Little Cargo called when she saw me. At only eight, she was much smaller than me, but I nearly fell over when she ran into me with the largest hug she could muster. "Where were you?"

"I was just checking the track. Where is everybody?" I asked.

"At the Reaping." Trax answered in his smooth, deep voice. "We were waiting for you! Karat has been here for ten minutes! She's probably about to Reap the tributes! Come on!" He rushed forward, grabbed my arm, and hauled me down the stairs.

Trax was strong, and we practically flew to the District Square. By practically, I should say literally. I was like a scarf in the wind behind the twenty-year-old man. It was a miracle Cargo managed to keep up.

In what felt like a few short minutes, we finally made it to the square, where our new escort, who had just "upgraded" from Seven, was up on stage, giving a speech about glory and courage. Trax shoved me to the Peacekeeper with the DNA tester, and disappeared. I got signed in, and found my way to the seventeen-year-old section. I tried to push my way through, but only received a few glares from my peers. I had just taken notice of the fact that the twelve-fifteen year olds were still lined up when Fuschia's voice rang out.

"And now, the female tribute from the, err… glorious District Six!"

Aran Quade, Age 17, District 6

I sat in the corner of the cell, listening to the water drip into the puddle in the center, dominating the already small room. "It's not my fault." I mumbled, "I need to feed my sister."

"I feel you." A voice said from the other side of the cement wall, which probably led to another cell. "Didn't mean to kill that guy either, but here I am."

I shook my head. "No, I-"

"Talking to yourself, eh, uh… Quade?" A deep voice came from another wall, where a door groaned open. "Happened to you faster than most others, I'd say. Well? C'mon, boy. You're of Reaping age, right?" He groaned in frustration when I didn't get up. Glaring, he stepped across the concrete floor and grabbed my arm roughly, jerking me to my feet. Growling, he led me to the door.

"You are going to be "released" for the Reaping today." The Peacekeeper said, "You will be accompanied by three armed guards. After the Reapings, you will be kept in the Crossway to be publicly whipped. You will not try to run, on penalty of being shot. Capisce?" I nodded, honestly more scared then I was letting on.

 _What went wrong?_ I thought.

During the 141st Games, my mother, Amaya, gave birth to my little sister, Reyna. As a result, she died, and, a few days later, my father, Luis, was arrested for attacking an abusive Capitolite with a suitcase. Thus, leaving me and Reyna to fend for ourselves.

The following nine years weren't so bad, other than the fact that we had to do everything we could to get a little food. We still had the old house, thankfully, and therefore a roof and beds. I took out tesserae whenever I had to, and worked at the nearest train station.

Which leads me to why I was in jail.

The night before the Reaping, I was on my way home from my late-night shift at Forter's Station. I was almost home, only in the Crossway, when a figure approached me out of the dark, a bright mask over his face. Without any kind of warning, he jumped me, throwing his fists at my face and stomach. As my vision faded, I saw the thief grab my money and the little bread I had in my satchel, and bolt.

When I woke up, my only friends, Burt and Squirt, were staring down at me, worried looks on their faces. The redheaded, 19-year-old twins looked ridiculous most of the time, whether they were working at the train station or hanging out in the street.

"You okay?" Squirt asked in a slightly high-pitched voice. I raised my head, and groaned.

"You don't look so good." Burt stated. "How's about you come back to our place, Ran? We could help your lip, and treat you for a concussion, if you'd like." When I just looked at him, he told me, "You were out like a light for a while, kid."

I reached up to my mouth and quickly pulled back when my index finger grazed my lip, almost screaming. My hand had a lot of blood on it. I looked at the older boys, and almost agreed to go with them. Then I remembered Reyna.

"I can't, guys. Sorry." I didn't even know what I was apologizing for. I just did.

Squirt shook his head. "Nope, you need to come with us, so that we can give you proper medical treatment." I hesitantly shook my head again, slowly standing up.

"I really need to go. Reyna's going to be worried."

"Nope. You're coming with us." Burt's tone was one of finality. He grabbed my arm.

"Fine." I sighed, thinking hard, "But you don't have to hold me!" I then proceeded to walk with them until they weren't paying attention, and took off.

I was still a few blocks from where Rey and I were staying when I came upon the local bakery. Looking at it, I thought of the bread I could have bought with that money, and grew angry. That thief probably already had money, probably spent mine on the bread he didn't even need. Filled with rage, I plucked a loose cobblestone off the ground, and chucked it through the front window, which completely shattered.

Climbing in, I looked around for something to hold the bread in, when my eyes found a basket, woven from the thin stalks of grain, with a large pink bow on top. I snatched it, and proceeded to overflow it with bagels, baguettes, and even a few biscuits.

As I exited through the shattered window, I heard urgent footsteps thundering down the street to the bakery. I ran around the corner, my head pounding, and the footsteps followed. Turning into an alley, I picked a piece of pipe from the ground.

As the Peacekeeper turned into the alleyway, I swung the pipe like a club at his head. He dodged, and in my weakened state I couldn't swing again. He pummeled me, and dragged my near-unconscious form to the Mid-Transport Jail for Minors.

My escort got my finger pricked, signing me in. I glared at him as I was led to my section, where the other boys my age were. From in front of me, I heard, "Good morning, District Six! Another beautiful day for the Reapings, huh? I am Fuschia, your new escort, here to Reap the tributes from this shiny District! But first, a video from our dear Capitol!"

Jetta Carter, Age 17, District 6

Fuschia strode over to the girls' bowls and plucked one slip from each. At the mic, she called out, "Jetta Carter! Come on up, sweetie." Gasps riddled the crowd, followed by hushed whispers, and a couple mournful wails, probably from my parents. I slowly made my way up to the stage, looking to both sides of the aisle at the people I had saved from starvation for years, and I felt proud of myself.

Finally on stage, I looked over the crowd again, a smile on my face. I looked at the possible female tributes, and thought, _Better the stupid rich girl than them._

Fuschia ushered me to the microphone, and asked me, "What's with the smile, dear? Anything you want to say to the Capitol?"

I answered with a simple, "I'm really glad it's me going into the Games, and not my fellow girls. The last time a girl from Six won, well," I looked at the mentors. "Spacia won the 121st. That makes almost thirty years. I'm just glad I'm the won suffering the Quell."

I looked at Fuschia, who was beaming. Into the mic, she said, "So good to see a downright patriotic tribute. Now, the boys."

She walked away from me to the boys' bowls. I sat there, dumbstruck, at what she had perceived me to be. Life came back into focus as I heard her call out, "Aran Quade!" Almost instantly, shouting erupted from a group of Peacekeepers near the 17-year-old boys section. A boy in an orange jumpsuit, who I recognized from my father's station, was trying to break away from the men in white. He almost got away, too, when one of his guards took his baton to Aran's stomach, and he doubled over.

The Peacekeepers carried Aran to the stage, and practically threw him over the railing. After a moment, he stood up, and stumbled over to me and Fuschia.

"My, my, what a, er… spirited youth! Welcome to the Games, Aran. Anything you'd like to say to Six?"

The brown haired boy looked at me, and scanned the crowd, as if trying to comprehend it all. His shoulders slumped, and I could have sworn he whispered, "Good bye."

Aran Quade, Age 17, District 6

Of course I'd be chosen for the Games, right? The moment something goes wrong, it just has to get worse and worse, doesn't it?

The Officials in the Capitol probably didn't like my attempt to get away, but their general public probably loved every dramatic moment. I'd already been selected for the Games, what can they do? Then again, there have been stories about the families of disobedient tributes.

The twins will probably get flogged, and Reyna will be forced into a community home, like most other children in the District. They'll be staring intently at the screen, watching the girl from One slit my throat at the Cornucopia, like most Six's. Or maybe I'll survive the bloodbath, and be skinned alive by a two. Or maybe…

The door slowly opened then, and a little head peeked through it. Seeing me, a wave of tears rolled down her delicate nine-year-old face. She held out her arms and sprinted toward me, sobbing. She didn't say anything, so I did.

"Shh. Everything will be alright, Rey." I began slowly stroking her hair. "I can make it back, Rey, you know I can. Six can do it once in a while, why, the Arena may even be like Kiara's, remember that?" She looked up at me with her big, intelligent green eyes. Kiara Enigma was a girl from Six, who won sometime in the Eighties. Her Victory was always on the Top Ten Insane Arenas, with it's endless underground railways, electric boxes, and even a few trains traveling the tracks daily. She won because she knew how to navigate such a place, and ambushed her enemies one by one.

"And what… what i-if its no-ot?" She asked, pulling me into a tighter hug.

"I'll figure it out, Rey, you know it. And when I get back, you and I will live in the Victor's Village! How does that sound?"

She nodded, "You come back, okay?"

"Okay." I answered.

Jetta Carter, Age 17, District 6

 _I'm going into the Games._ I thought miserably. I coughed. _With a cold setting in._ Again. _Maybe it will be a warm Arena, with beautiful forest animals and mermaids._ I shook my head. _I'm not coming back. I don't have the skills. I've only ever climbed a tree once. My parents give me plenty of food, so I couldn't possibly find my own. Then again, I'm used to eating little…_

From the front of the room, by the door, a hesitant voice called, "Jetta, dear?"

I looked up at my mother, Laney. At thirty-five, she has a beautiful face, and the calm eyes of a clever merchant. She smiled lovingly, and held out her arms. I ran into her embrace, and felt a much larger presence from behind. Turning as much as I could, I looked up at the one man in the District who ever made me happy.

Byke Carter never cried. At forty-five, he's watched his baby brother go into the Games, his parents murdered, and, now, his only child called for the Games. He only cried for the latter.

With tears in his eyes, he said, "You _can_ make it home, sweetheart. I will be here, getting you as much food, water, and… other supplies you may need. Everyone at Forter's will be behind you. I'll make their jobs depend on it!" He laughed his hearty laugh, pushing it as far as he could go. He looked down at me. "I know you can do this, Jetty. You are the smartest girl I know, and if anyone can brave the Arena, it's you."

"When you make the Top Eight, there will be family interviews. Who do you want me to ask to join us?" My mother asked.

"Just Trax and Cargo." I answered slowly.

"Are you sure? You don't have any other-"

"Time's up, Mr. and Mrs. Carter." The Peacekeeper called as he opened the door.

"We'll see you when you get home!" My father called to me as they were hauled out.

Railer Playne, Age 59, District 6

After the Reapings fiasco, Fuschia, a cheerful District Seven Loyalist aka lousy Six escort approached me, a Reaping slip in either hand. She smiled, and proclaimed, "Hello, Railer. Guess who's mentoring Jetta?" She raised her voice so high, the glass on the Justice Building must have shook.

"Gee, I don't know!" I faked a confused look. "Who could it possibly be? Danny?"

"Oh, don't be silly! They probably didn't even put his name in the bowl! You don't really want the 3rd Quarter Quell's second death as a mentor for Six, do you? The mere idea!" She snorted. "You are a much better mentor then he'd ever be, yes? You brought home both Kendra _and_ Spacia! Who did Danny bring back, hm? No, you are Jetta's mentor, have fun!"

If that woman doesn't get promoted to a higher District, I'll probably throttle her.

Kiara Enygma, Age 83, District 6

Most of them deserved their deaths, but I still feel guilty about them. Their deaths are on constant replay, making me wonder if the other Victors ever experienced it, and, if so, how they had managed to stay sane.

It's the same order every time. Every moment in high definition. My District partner lying at the mouth of the Cornucopia, a bloody knife in the boy from Nine's hand. I pull out the bow, and the arrow flies through his skull. I throw down the weapon and run, screaming. I'm hiding inside a cabinet in a train car when the Careers find me. I had lost my bow, and they easily taunt the thirteen year-old girl. I grab a pipe as they grab my legs. With their force, the pipe explodes, toxic gasses filling the air, and I escape in the confusion. The faces of the boys from Four and Two show up in the sky that night.

I hide in another train. The little boy from Five crawls through the door, his legs cut off at the knee. I hear laughter from down the track, and the boy looks at me pleadingly. I take the knife from his belt and slit his throat, placing the weapon back in his hand. My humanity gone, I played a game of cat and mouse with the final Career for two days. Armed only with a metal pipe she had thrown at me, I finally beat her to death while she slept. And just like that, I was in the final two.

My eyes opened, and I sat up quickly. Blinded, I shielded my eyes and took in my surrounding. Somebody was yelling, maybe _two_ somebody's a voice came directly to my right, and I swung my arm with speed that surprised me. I held my now stinging arm to my chest, and ran, my young self's legs carrying me. My only thought was, _I can't go into the Arena again!_

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far:**

 **dreams and desperation: 74**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 68**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 62**

 **We're All Okay: 56**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 53**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **InfiniteDespair: 53**

 **Clis2339: 62**

 **Jayman1919: 53**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 53**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 53**

 **Nightmares Are Dreams Too: 56**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Here are the submitters who have not reviewed (If I don't know you're reading, I may kill your tribute(s). Just saying):**

 **Wolfie McCoy**

 **superepicstarkette1211**

 **If you are on none of these lists, you are probably a non-submitter, and I have not included your name because I haven't seen a review in a while. If you'd like to be on any of these lists, let me know. Remember everyone, your donations can save lives!**

 **Questions!**

 **Favorite character overall?**

 **Favorite Victor?**

 **Favorite tribute?**

 **Of the current tributes, who** _ **will**_ **win?**

 **Of the current tributes, who do you** _ **want**_ **to win?**

 **Other notes? (Besides update irregularity)**

 **Now, my absence. I was sick with the stomach flu for a week and a half at the end of January, and, as a result, went back to school failing half my classes. It took me about a month to bounce back, and, when I did, my English papers got lost in the midst of grading, so I had to do them again. Then, track came around, and I was barely home. We had our first meet Thursday, and the school term ended yesterday (Friday.) So, now that my life has calmed a bit, I have total, utter free time until I get the next major project on Monday. All in all, life was stressful and sucked, and this weekend is the promise of a calm sea in the midst of a storm, about to be seen as an illusion.**

 **Ta,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	9. Lumber Mills- District Seven

**Hello, hello, FanFiction! It is a beautiful day here, and I have another chapter for you! But first things first.**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: I liked both of them too. Honestly, as I wrote, I began to like each of them more and more! You know what I find interesting? You told me to "Take your time with updates." And later, "Update ASAP!"**

 **dreams and desperation: Yes, another update! Matter of fact, here's another!**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: I'm glad you understand! It was hard for me to just not have the time, but it got done, didn't it? Welcome to the Sponsor club!**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: I'm glad you liked Kiara. You are one of few people who would be willing to let your tribute die for someone else's, and it takes guts to write something like that for the world. Everyone has their own special reason to get back, though. Even those who have already been given a death sentence…**

 **The Rsce: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like my writing so far, and hope you like this chapter, and the ones to come just as much! It is as wonderful for me to hear my phone buzz with an email, saying I have a new review/follower/favorite.**

 **Jayman1919: Okay, I'll put you on the list!**

 **Alien and Wolfie: I was really missing you; I'm glad to see you're still reading!**

 **Reviews are loved and appreciated! It encourages me to write better, and keep the story going! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and/or favorited this story!**

 **I GOT 131 VIEWS IN A SINGLE DAY! IS THAT IN THE RECORD BOOKS!?**

 **I do not own the Hunger Games. I only own multiple characters and their stories.**

 **Kenzie is, in fact, a comedy character. She is mostly here to give me, as well as you, a good laugh. It'll get better after this chapter, trust me.**

 **Also, thanks to Jayman1919 for our tributes from Seven, and for pestering me the past week.**

Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District 7

* * *

Lights flashed through the studio. I had no idea what would be put on the green screen behind me, but I must have fit it perfectly in my glowing pink dress and matching high heels. Voices behind the flashes barked orders to me once in a while.

"A little to the left!"

"Tilt your chin a little more! No, higher! There ya go!"

"Right hand on your hip!"

"Nice job, Princess! Now, smile!"

With each order I made the adjustment, and the flashes continued all the while. Most people may have gotten bothered once in a while, but I had been in the modeling business since I was seven. Every day, I would walk to the "Capitol Studios, District Seven Branch!" building and stand for hours upon hours, until either curfew or when the Capitolists were sick of my joking around.

Yeah, I'm a bit of a jokester. During short breaks, me and my friend Lia, who worked as an intern to the Capitolites, would prank the buggers in every way imaginable. Expensive, clear plastic wrap over the superintendent's toilet, a bucket of mud over the main doors, and pies. Lots and lots of pies.

A whistle blew in the distance, signaling the end of the Games Candidates' work day. Without waiting for the superintendent's approval, I left the studio without looking back.

I stumbled when a pie slammed into my face. Wiping the thick cream from my eyes, I saw the retreating figure of Lia entering the busy section of the city. Figuring I'd get her back later, I made the quick walk home.

Slamming the door shut, I called, "Ma, I'm home!"

"In the kitchen!" She called back. I walked into the tiled kitchen, where my mother, Linda, sat at the dinner table. "What happened to your dress?" She asked when she saw me. "Wait, don't tell me. Lia got you again, didn't she?" I only nodded, wiping a little banana off my face.

"I'm gonna go clean up, alright?" She only nodded, and began to wash the dishes. I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, which I shared with nobody, having no siblings whatsoever. On my nice, warm bed was my Reaping dress, which I didn't dare touch with my messy hands. So, to clean off, I took a quick shower.

After my shower, I threw on the dress, knowing full well that I had little time before the Reapings. In the mirror, I took inventory of myself.

My long blond hair flowed loosely around my shoulders and pretty face. My 5'10" slim frame was perfect for the sparkling blue dress I had just bought with my own money for the Reaping.

"Kenzi, darlin', you're gonna be late if ya don't hurry!" A gruff male voice called from downstairs.

"Comin' Dad!" I called back, running downstairs. I snatched my satchel from the stair railing, which was full of the bakery's thickest pies, and met my parents at the door.

"Ready to go?" My father, James asked. I nodded, and he added, "You look beautiful today, Kenz. Then again, that's rather normal, isn't it?"

My mother laughed. "Yep. Our beautiful little girl is almost through with the Reapings! We don't want to be late!" She gestured to the square, and we set off.

Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

I swung the axe half-heartedly at the base of the pine tree. _Thunk!_ Again. _Thunk!_ And again. _Thunk!_ And again. _Thunk!_ Staring at the C-shaped hole, I stepped to the side, and, with a final heave, cleaved the tree in two.

"Timber!" I shouted. With a crash, the tree fell to the forest floor. I looked over to where the forman's tent was, and called, "Kyle! Ash! Get your lousy butts over here, and help me out with this thing!" From the bright yellow tent, my two best friends turned. Like me, they had a lumberjack's build: tall, broad, and lots of muscle.

"What, so you can't lift this little tree by yourself?" Ash grinned at me.

"That ain't the problem and you know it; I need your ugly face to scare it to the mill!" The three of us laughed, and picked the tree up, me and Kyle near the base, and Ash near the middle. We carried it the short distance from Lot 57's working area to the one truck we were allowed to use. Hefting it over our heads, we tossed it onto the other trees on the pickup's trailer.

In the distance, a whistle pierced the air, loud and clear. I turned to Ash and Kyle. "Work's over, guys. See ya right back here after the Reapings, 'aight?"

They both gave an affirmative, and we all set off toward our homes. I ran, however, through the fields of dead tree stumps and wood chips. Following a long, twisted, well-worn path, I made it to my home.

My house is like any other in Seven: a shack more than a home. With an old, near-rotting oak door, wooden flooring and walls, and barely big enough to comfortably fit 5. Lucky for me, my family only had 4. Walking into mine of the three bedrooms, I noticed for the hundredth time how creepy the place was when it was deserted.

The emptiness is normal, though. My father, William, and my twenty-year-old brother, Jake, don't get off work on Reaping day until the actual Reaping. My mother, Lena, was probably out with friends, getting drunk. Again. So, I was left home alone, not that I minded too much.

On my bed was my Reaping outfit. Nothing fancy, it consisted of a white polo and khakis. Grabbing the clothing, I strode into our only small bathroom and washed up in the sink as best I could, throwing my dirty work clothes in a hamper.

My Reaping clothes on, I examined my appearance in the mirror. My biceps stretched the sleeves of the polo, and the khakis looked very dull. My dark blue eyes stared back at me, and my dark brown hair was barely visible for how short it was. The skin under it was as gold as it was everywhere else.

Leaving the house, I breathed in the fresh air of District Seven. It was a beautiful sunny day, but, with the Reaping hanging over it, the tension in the air was intense.

Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District 7

I wasn't paying much attention to what was going on in the Square. I was too busy looking for Lia in the crowd of girls before me, and didn't register the video or anything the new escort said. After what felt like forever, I found her with her back turned. Slowly, I pulled one of the pies out of my satchel and advanced on her. I reared my arm back, ready to fling the pie, when:

"Is Kenzi Williams here? I swear, if she isn't, I will personally throttle her."

I froze, and looked up at the stage. The new escort, whose name I hadn't even cared to learn, was searching the crowd, a slip of paper in hand. Slowly, I slid the pie back into my bag, and walked, hesitantly, to the aisle.

I could make the Capitol love me, right? I'd have to do something memorable. Say something remarkable. Before I could decide what to do, I was at the stage, and ushered to the top of the stairs. The escort welcomed me to his stand, and smiled.

"So, you're Kenzi, then?" He asked. When I only nodded, he added, "Well, we're happy to have you, Kenzi. I feel like I recognize you from somewhere. Have you ever been to the Capitol? Any distant relatives in the Capitol? Any family die in the Games? I swear, I've-" He stopped short, a look of horror on his face.

I smirked, and smashed the pie all over his brown suit.

Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

The whole congregation roared with laughter. Up on stage, the female tribute had turned Lumeo's nice brown suit into a ruined, white and yellow one. I watched, still laughing, as Lumeo wiped gunk from his face, and scowled at everyone.

Shaking his whole body, he stomped his way over to the boys' bowls. Shoving one creamy hand into each, he touched nearly every paper before pulling one out of each. Back at his podium, he cleaned off the papers as best he could, and lifted them closer to his eyes.

I was still high on laughter when he called, "Logan Woodson!" In a voice that made him sound like an angry father. I stopped my chuckling, and slowly stepped into the aisle.

Nervously, I looked around at my peers. Some of the girls stared at me silently, while others didn't dare meet my gaze. The guys were all sighing in relief, except for Ash and Kyle, who stared at me, seemingly on the verge of… tears? And, up front, were the twelve-year-olds, who, not even being eligible, were still in a state of sheer pleasure and cosmic relief. It could have been any one of them, but it was me.

Once up on stage, Lumeo looked at me and spoke into the microphone, "Well perhaps we have a competitor, District 7, your tributes, Kenzi and Logan, shake hands, and so forth. I am sick of this stupid District and so help me I will have you all killed slowly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go clean off and find Oak. Stupid name, really." He stomped into the Justice Building, making very undignified noises as he did.

I turned to my new partner, who I'd have to kill in a matter of days.

I hoped against hope that I wouldn't be the one to kill the beautiful girl in front of me.

Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District 7

The door opened while I was staring out the window at the beautiful trees behind the Justice Building. When I turned, I wasn't at all surprised to have yet another pie all over my face. I grunted, and wiped the cream from my eyes. "Is this really the time?" I demanded, tapping my foot impatiently and staring down Lia.

"Sorry." She hesitated, embarrassed. "Just figured, you know, for ol' times' sake. Figured we could have a final laugh before you, um… leave."

"Thanks," I laughed nervously. I held up the messy pie tin. "Maybe I can refill this and take it into the Arena. I could chuck it at the first person who comes after me in the Bloodbath."

"Like you did with Lumeo?" We both laughed until our sides hurt and then some. When she was forced to leave, my parents in walked slowly, methodically. Both had tears in their eyes.

I looked at them in shock as I realized: I'd have to be the one to comfort _them_. I'd have to assure them that I could brave the Arena, and escape with my life. I have to tell you, it's hard to do when you don't believe it yourself.

I caught my mother as she fell to her knees. "You can't go." She whispered. "We can't lose you. We'd have nothing left." She began to sob again.

I hugged her on the floor, her head in the crook of my neck. My dad embraced me from behind, and said, "Kenzi, I-" He teared up, and looked at me in misery.

"It's okay." I hugged his neck, getting pie all over it. "I can do it."

Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

I would tell you that the waiting room was small, but that would be incorrect. By that, of course, I mean the "waiting room" part. When one thinks of a waiting room, they think of the ones in hospitals. Waiting rooms in hospitals symbolize hope. Hope of a loved one being okay. My waiting room wasn't at a hospital. It was death's living room.

I was so anxious I was thinking about trying to rip an arm off the comfortable leather chair that had been provided when the door opened. I turned, lifting my hands from the leather. My mother paraded through the open doorway and stumbled across the room. She got in my face, and whispered, "District Seven isn't getting a seventeenth Victor this year, is it?" She paused, and I inhaled a breath of alcohol-free air. She turned, facing my father and brother. "Is it?" She repeated, rage in her tone.

Dad and Jake looked at me helplessly, and answered, "No ma'am." And "Of course not."

"See there, boy? You will not be allowed to survive that Arena, I forbid it! You get out, and I will strangle you, you hear?" I simply nodded, not wanting to antagonize her. She huffed, and shoved my chest, sending the chair, and me, spilling to the floor.

I looked up just in time to see her walk out, calling behind her, "You will die before the Games even start, you brat. It was horrible knowing you!" I never understood why she hated me. I worked even harder than Jake.

I'd win a thousand Games just to prove her wrong.

Oak Teare, Age 37, District Seven

As the Victor of the 130th Hunger Games and District Seven's fourteenth Victor, I have a lot of responsibilities. One of them is mentoring. I do it almost every year, and I've thus far brought only one girl home. In my Games, I won by outlasting all the other tributes. The President, and the Gamemakers, hate me.

In the 130th, the Gamemakers decided to blow up the Cornucopia at the very beginning of the Games, to increase the drama with the Careers. In the bloodbath, they killed fourteen kids, and then two of them died in the surprise explosion. Before the end of Day One we were in the Final Ten.

Now, you'd think the Games went quickly from there, but no. Just no. No blood was spilled over the course of ten days, and the Capitol hated it. With the tributes never getting within half a mile of each other ever, they called a feast, to which nobody went to, fearing the Careers. The Careers, it seemed, couldn't find it.

Me, I traveled across the Arena, eating berries and drinking from a single canteen for 24 days, until finally, the trumpets sounded above the jungle canopy. Without a single kill, I won the Hunger Games.

As soon as I made it out I attempted to hide from the public eye, and I even committed some treason to do so. For my treason, my family was executed or Reaped for the Hunger Games. My oldest daughter, Mary, turned twelve the year of the Quell. Me and my wife, Abigail, have trained her hard for the Games, so she could survive them. Then the Quell rule was announced.

There's the long version of why I wasn't surprised that I'd be mentoring for the 6th Quarter Quell.

Lily Jeng, Age 124, District Seven

The first thing I noticed when I left hibernation was the yelling. Opening my eyes, I saw that Cecelia and Gloss were in the corner of the room, arguing, not that that was unexpected. Nearly every year that I've mentored since the 96th, there's been two tributes from the 3rd Quarter Quell, fighting about something. Usually one killed the other, as is this case.

And, as usual, I chose to ignore it.

I flexed the 16-year-old arms I had in my youth, when I won the Hunger Games. The 42nd Games were quite easy, really, when the Careers only numbered four and only a few other tributes survived the bloodbath.

I reached over to the table next to my bed, and grabbed the manila envelope resting on it. Opening the file, I read:

 **Name: Logan Woodson**

 **Age: 16**

 **Gender: Male**

 **Notes: A lumberjack, Reaped for the 6** **th** **Quarter Quell. Likely to make Top Eight, if Arena allows.**

 ***Placing prediction is based off previous stats from previous tributes, including background, age, District and assigned mentor.**

I closed the file and placed it back on the table, not willing to read the rest. Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the heavy oak headboard. To my immediate left, panicked breathing could be heard, and I looked up just in time to see a little girl, possibly only thirteen, slap a nurse across the face and run out of the room, screaming.

Cecelia and Gloss didn't even pause their argument.

* * *

 **So, District Seven is history! Yay!**

 **Questions!**

 **Favorite D7 Tribute?**

 **Favorite D7 Mentor?**

 **Favorite District so far?**

 **How was your Easter? (If you celebrated)**

 **Where would you like to be from, District-wise?**

 **What are some hobbies you have? (I do track and archery)**

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know:**

 **dreams and desperation: 77**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 71**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 65**

 **We're All Okay: 56**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 56**

 **Jayman1919: 56**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 56**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **Clis2339: 62**

 **The Rsce: 62**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **InfiniteDespair: 53**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 53**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Alien and Wolfie: 53**

 **Here are the submitters who have not reviewed (If I don't know you're reading, I may kill your tribute(s). Just saying) (and I like your tributes, so don't let them down now!):**

 **superepicstarkette1211**

 **If you are on none of these lists, you are probably a non-submitter, and I have not included your name because I haven't seen a review in a while. If you'd like to be on any of these lists, let me know. Remember everyone, your donations can save lives!**


	10. Cotton Factories- District Eight

**And I'm back, with a brand new chapter! Today we will be reaching the Textile District, and meet her tributes. Are you excited? I'm excited!**

 **I'm sorry the chapter took a little longer. I was a little busy stressing over scheduling for the next school year.**

 **Reviews!**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: I'm glad you had a good Easter, mine was great too. I'd kill for a new pair of headphones!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: It's alright if you don't make sense sometimes, it's a miracle I manage to get anything written some days! If I could choose, I'd probably live in 3 or 7, too.**

 **dreams and desperation: Yup, he literally asked me 4 times when it'd be up.**

 **jayman1919: It is okay, you managed to get me to update faster. I hope I did Seven justice.**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: I'm glad you are liking the story, it means a lot. I sorta meant to… imply the fact the Kenzi would do that, and I'm glad you liked it anyway. 4 would be a nice District…**

 **I know people aren't reviewing! On the day I posted Six, I got 131 views, and only seven reviews. Between Monday the 28** **th** **and Tuesday the 29** **th** **I got 53 views, and only 5 reviews. People are reading, and I'd like your feedback. If you have anything to say, I'd like to hear it. The only criticism I've received was in the first one or two chapters. I can't be too good for negative comments!**

 **Jayman1919 is writing a games where authors submit themselves. I submitted, you should too! The full title is:** _ **THE FanFic Games (SYS- Submit Yourself- OPEN).**_

 **I must insist that you read all the way through the author's note at the end of the chapter.**

 **Thanks to Mystical Pine Forest and Clis2339 for Tulle and Henry!**

* * *

Tulle Salane, Age 15, District 8

* * *

Slowly, I opened my eyes, and lifted my head off the hard, yet surprisingly comfortable surface it was resting on. Squinting in the light, I attempted for many seconds, to no avail, to survey my surroundings.

Once my eyes had adjusted a little, I took note of the space before me. At eye level was a bright rectangle that hurt to gaze upon, so instead, I looked down. Opening my eyes the slightest bit more, I saw a brightly colored sheet of paper, framed in a dark wood. Upon further examination, the "frame" became a desk, littered with pencils, balled-up sheets of paper and a notepad.

I sat upright in my chair, staring out the window onto the streets of District Eight, where people roamed in small clusters, seeking the safety and comfort only found in numbers. My family lived in a richer part of Eight, where we worked our own little fashion shop.

By "we" I of course mean my mother, Velvet, my father, Plaid, my thirteen-year-old brother, Rayon, and my grandfather on my dad's side, Hemp. Mom works as a seamstress, dad a tailor, myself, a designer, and Rayon's an errand boy. My grandfather, being 72, doesn't do a lot, as he practically lives in his wheelchair and bed behind the shop.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stood up, surveying the small, yet fair room. Opposite the wall with the room's only window and desk was a "twin-sized" mattress, resting on the cold wood floor. Lying on the pale blue comforter was a faded purple blouse and a black skirt. On the floor by the foot of the bed sat a pair of black ballet flats, one of them on its side in the open doorway.

Upon seeing them, I remembered the importance of that particular day, and quickly threw them on. After making sure nothing was inside-out or backwards, I walked down the hall to our upper-floor bathroom, where I gazed at myself in the mirror. Zeroing in on my target, I plucked it from where it rested on the cast iron.

I ran the bright pink brush through my hair, annoyed at how much it had gotten tangled overnight. In my frenzy for a new design, I had ruffled my strawberry blonde hair into a rat's nest. Resisting the urge to yank the brush, I caught a peek of my reflection in the mirror.

The first things that stand out are the many zits all over my face. (I've tried to get rid of them, honestly, but they're stubborn as double-stitching.) Once you get past that fact, you see my bright blue eyes, and straight hair that reaches my shoulders. My tall, slender frame makes me seem older than fifteen, and my larger feet always seem to bring me great pain whenever I stub my toes.

Finally finished with brushing, I opened the bathroom door to see my little brother Rayon sitting on the floor, an impatient look on his face.

"Took you long enough!" He whined.

"If you'd wake up earlier, you'd get the bathroom before me." I retorted.

"I'd wake up earlier if I didn't have to go all the way to Cobbler Town to deliver some stupid pattern ideas. That you made!"

"Well maybe if you weren't such a baby and took out more tesserae…" My thought process paused and I walked to the top of the stairway. Very quickly, I called behind me, "speaking of designs, could you get the one I drew up last night? It's on my desk, thanks!" He yelled after me, but I couldn't hear what he was saying.

One of the back rooms of our shop was our kitchen-slash-dining area. In this room I found my father flipping pancakes, my mother getting more sausage out of the fridge, and my grandfather sitting on his lazy butt reading a newspaper, as always.

"Good morning!" I called cheerily to all of them. Grandpa ignored me, mother looked at me with a small smile, and my father dropped his pancake on the floor to embrace me.

"Good morning sweetheart!" He said joyfully. "And how are you this morning?"

"I woke up in the middle of the night with a great idea for a new type of clothing! I saw it in a book once I think, and it came to me in a dream, and-"

"And it's thinking like that that won you this." I turned around to the door between our shop and our living space, where my friend Sofie Frayy was holding up a trophy. "Come on, miss "1st place in a friggin' fashionista contest." We need to get going. Cally's gonna meet us there, remember?"

"I remember." I pulled away from my dad, and turned to my mom. "We're leaving now, okay? I'll see you after."

"Don't leave your brother behind!" She warned.

"We won't. He's already in the shop." I lied.

"I am not!" Rayon yelled as he sprinted down the stairs. He handed my father a sheet of paper, and ran over to us. "Let's blow this pop stand!"

"Sure, Mr. Four-slips." I muttered.

* * *

Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8

* * *

"Henry, what's this?" I looked up at the old woman, who was holding up some ash grey flowers, with dull orange stems, a color that made it half way up each leaf. The other half was a bright green. I knew from when I had first learned about these flowers that they grew from any living or once-living cells found in volcanic lava or magma. The woman looked at me expectantly, her clear mind showing in the expression on her face.

"That's a lava lily." I answered after less than a moment's hesitation.

"And what can you use it for?" The old woman, Sonia, asked again.

"The roots are edible, the stem, though thin, is coated in drinkable water, and the flower itself can be crushed and mixed with water to create a healing paste." I answered again.

"And the leaves?" She knew I knew the answer. We were just reviewing.

"The orange half is coated with water, like the stem itself. The green half, however, can cause bad skin rashes, and, if consumed, is a slow-working poison."

"Very good, Henry, as usual. It's time for you to leave, now. The new escort won't wait for you, ya know." She smiled at me, and held out her arms. I got up from the chair I was sitting in and embraced her.

"I love you, Grandma. I'll see you after the Reapings."

"I love you too, sweetie. I have a few patients to check up on and I'll be right behind you."

I smiled at her and left the office, walking down a hall of similar offices, and finally, through a heavy wooden door to the waiting room. The yellow wallpaper seemed sickly, rubbed white in some places. Without taking too much time looking around, I left the hospital.

Yes, my grandmother works in a hospital, but calling it a hospital is inaccurate. The building is only one floor, and has an operating room, about a dozen offices, and maybe half as many check-up rooms. My grandmother is one of the main surgeons, and I help her out whenever I can get off work.

My whole family consists of my grandmother, who is seventy-one, and my two older sisters Jessica and Paula, who are twenty-five and twenty. I never knew my parents, as they died in a factory accident when I was really young. I don't remember them, but my sisters and grandmother always seem sad when talking about them.

Once home, I grabbed my reaping outfit, which I had set out on the sofa before I had left, and went straight into the bathroom to throw them on. Looking down at myself, I saw my regular Reaping outfit: a green button up shirt, black pants and matching shoes.

My reflection showed me what I see every day: bushy black hair, brown eyes and a face that could help me pass for twelve. My slightly overweight appearance made me look tough, which surprised the workers at the factory and hospital.

A knock at the door forced me to hurriedly tuck (more like "shove") my shirt into my pants. Leaving the bathroom as quick as I dared, I opened the door and stepped back into the dirty District Eight sunlight.

"Ready to go?" A feminine voice asked. I looked at the two figures standing on the steps.

Turning to the slightly shorter one with the long blonde hair I said, "As I'll ever be, Becks." She smiled at me and started walking away from me, toward the main square, which was over a mile away.

James, Rebecca and I had been friends for only a few years, but we had clicked instantly. We had the same grade 5 class, and were forced to talk to each other to coordinate an art project. Crazy as it sounds, they both lost role models in their lives when they were about as young as I was when my parents died, so they were the only ones I ever opened up to.

"Henry? Heeeenrrryyyy?" Rebecca was waving her hand in front of my face. "Are you even listening?"

I smiled. "Sorry guys, I guess not."

"Where were you all morning? We came by your house like three times!" James whined.

I laughed. "I was at the hospital. Grandma asked me to go with her, but she just had me review the uses of some plants."

"Which ones?" Rebecca asked, genuinely curious.

"Let's see…" I then read off a list of plants that I could remember seeing at the hospital earlier. Among them were mutt roots, howler roses, blue jasmine… "And lava lilies." I finished.

"Wow, you did all that this morning?" James asked incredulously. "Dude, you could win the Games with that knowledge!"

Rebecca's face darkened. "District Eight hasn't had a Victor since Yvonne won fifty-five years ago. Do you really want to think of Henry in there, James?"

James opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, we could hear the anthem playing down the street.

* * *

Tulle Salane, Age 15, District 8

* * *

I winced as the peacekeeper pricked my finger, signing me in. He waved his hands in a shooing motion, and I obliged, walking toward the fifteen-year-old's section. It was weird standing in the back, but sixteen through eighteens weren't eligible, so it was appropriate.

I couldn't find Calico, to my disappointment, but I at least had Sofie to keep me company. We stood there through the new escort's greetings, (her name was Friga. What the heck?) and a video encouraging Eight to "break the streak." We then watched as she called the Victors one by one.

"Woof Thread, the 17th Hunger Games, 21st place in the 3rd Quarter Quell. Velvet Furse, the 57th Hunger Games. Cecelia Furse, the 60th Hunger Games, 22nd place in the 3rd Quarter Quell. Hazel Cardigan, the 67th Hunger Games." An old, ninety nine year-old woman shakily stood on stage, her cane holding her weight. "Satin Turban, the 79th Hunger Games." An eighty-nine year old man stood up, strength rolling off him in waves. "Cotton Ink, the 92nd Hunger Games." Friga wiped her eyes at mentioning his name. Cotton was poisoned in Ten during his Victory Tour. "And finally, the Victor of the 95th Hunger Games, Yvonne Ghetto."

Yvonne got up and looked at us sadly. But Friga didn't notice, and continued. "Now, I shall Reap the tributes from District Eight for the 6th Quarter Quell."

* * *

Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8

* * *

Friga plucked a sheet of paper from each of the glass bowls on the right side of the stage. At the mic, she called, "Tulle Salane." I looked at the fifteens, where I saw Tulle slowly pull her arm away from the girl next to her and walk up to the stage. I hadn't really known her, but she always brought new design ideas to the factory I worked at.

"Hello dear." Friga greeted her. "Is there anything you'd like to say before we leave for the Capitol?"

She looked down at us, doing her best to hold back the tears. "Ready to break the streak?" She asked.

After a few seconds of silence Friga said, "isn't that nice. Been a while since I saw a patriot in Eight! Now for the boys." She strode confidently to the bowls on the left side of the stage, and drew a sheet of paper from each. "Henry Reynoso!" She called.

James gaped at me in horror, and I realized it was true. I had been reaped for the Hunger Games! I screamed, and my breathing became rapid and deep. Hyperventilating, I stumbled through the back of the crowd, where peacekeepers seized me and dragged me to the steps of the Justice Building. I did nothing to stop them.

Finally gaining control over my emotions, I looked up at Friga offering me a hand. I took it, and she rolled her eyes at me. I looked out at the crowd as she announced, "ladies and gentlemen, your tributes from District Eight!" No applause was heard from below, and she whispered to Tulle and I, "This is the part where you shake hands."

We complied, and Friga herded us into the Justice Building.

* * *

Tulle Salane, Age 15, District 8

* * *

They were the first genuine tears I had seen from Grandpa in a long time, and they only spurred my parents to cry harder. I tried my hardest to keep the tears away, waiting for theirs to stop flowing, but they were taken away before that happened.

Once they were gone, though, Calico and Rayon walked in, running with his arms outstretched, and Cally obviously trying to figure out what to say.

"Calico, I-" I started.

"Stop, T. You're my best friend and I know that if you start talking, you'll start crying and then I'll start crying." She paused. "I know you can make it out. I know it. So what if it hasn't happened in over fifty years? You said so yourself, we're breaking the streak this year. You are an artist, maybe you can for the whole Games, and make a weapon to kill your last opponent. You-" She paused.

"You can make friends, Tulle." Rayon continued through his tears. "Half the Games is about friends. You can do it." He started sobbing again, unable to stop. I looked up at Cally.

"Take care of them, okay?" I asked, lightly pushing Rayon over to her. She nodded, grabbing Ray by the shoulders. She only looked back once.

The door creaked open, and I looked up expecting to see Friga, but saw Sofie instead. "Hey." She said tentatively.

"Can I really do this, Sofe? Could I break Eight's curse? I'm a designer, not a fighter."

She plopped herself on the arm of the chair I was sitting in, and said, "Not everyone wins with a fight. Most do, but some get lucky. With a great deal of luck, anyone could win the Games. They just need the right circumstances."

"Like what?" I challenged.

"Well, you could get one of the cousins as a mentor. They're tributes always make it far. Or you could be launched right next to a weapon, away from the Careers."

I nodded slowly, trying to come up with a plan.

* * *

Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8

* * *

I wasn't surprised to see Jessica visit me first; she files Capitol papers in the Justice Building, and only briefly took a break from work to see the Reapings.

And say goodbye.

As she walked in, she smiled softly, her eyes watery. She approached me silently, and I stared at her, willing myself not to cry.

Jessica had always been to me what I figured a mother must have felt like. She's 11 years older than me, but she never ignored me or even told me to go away. We were best friends, even though I seldom saw her.

"You okay?" She finally asked.

I gave a weak smile. "I suppose. It's almost unreal, you know? Like, it hasn't really sunk in yet, even though I know it has."

She matched my smile, and said, "You can win, you know. After all, you always seemed to win hide-and-seek when you were little. Little skills can help like that in the Arena." She held me then, rejoicing in old memories, until she had to go. Grandma and Paula walked in after she left.

I stood up, offering the chair to my grandma. She took it, and Paula punched me in the arm.

"You better come back." She said, failing to force a smile. "I'd miss you if something happened. Besides, I'd have to work more at the factory!" She gave a sad laugh, which quickly died.

"You don't have to be a strong fighter to win the Games, Henry." I turned to my grandmother as she spoke, "District Three seldom wins with fights. Most win with clever traps, or analyzing the weaknesses of their opponents."

"What am I supposed to do? Create traps and trick other tributes into them?" I questioned.

She looked at me seriously and answered, "If it comes down to it. If you can, try to align yourself with the Threes. If not, simply play the Game like a Three. You know plants, and their uses. That has also helped many Nines, Elevens and Twelves to win. Just use what you have and come back to us. Do you understand, Henry?"

I nodded, and answered, "I'll do my best, I promise. I know I can make it, I just need a useful Arena." They both nodded, and were herded out by the peacekeeper.

* * *

Cecelia Furse, Age 107 (17), District 8

* * *

I sat straight up in my hospital bed, grasping at my throat and breathing hard. Not finding a gash, I calmed down a bit, and looked around. Three people to my right were sitting up in their beds, though four lumps were still.

I recognized the place, as I had been there multiple times before. Throwing my legs onto the floor, I groaned. _Not again!_ I thought. I stood up and began walking past the many beds, waving to Ingrid from Three and Matt from Five. I tried to ignore Kinzie's glare.

At the end of the row of beds, I stopped. The very last one had _District 1_ inscribed in the headboard. Cautiously, I walked to where the Victor's head rested under the blanket. Carefully, I lifted it.

Gloss opened his eyes and I screamed.

* * *

Velvet Furse, Age 111 (18), District 8

* * *

My head throbbed, and people were shouting. _Why won't they stop?_ I thought. _It's bad enough I'm mentoring again, but I'm not the only one who wakes with a headache._ Pressing my hands to my head, I opened my eyes to bright lights that only made it all worse.

I tried to take inventory of my situation. I reached to my left and felt another bed, though much closer than I was used to. _Maybe I have a deadie for a partner,_ I thought. But who could it be? Last time I was alive, the only dead Victors were Woof, Cecelia, Cotton and myself. Surely, they wouldn't let me and Cecelia mentor together-? Maybe Hazel died in some freak accident…

Then I recognized the voices, arguing as they always did before they went into the Quell together.

Quickly getting up, I hurried to back up my cousin.

* * *

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know:**

 **dreams and desperation: 80**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 74**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 68**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 59**

 **jayman1919: 59**

 **We're All Okay: 56**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 56**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **The Rsce: 62**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **InfiniteDespair: 53**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 53**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Alien and Wolfie: 53**

 **Here are the submitters who have not reviewed (If I don't know you're reading, I may kill your tribute(s). Just saying) (and I like your tributes, so don't let them down now!):**

 **superepicstarkette1211**

 **And finally, here are the people who for sure AREN'T Sponsoring:**

 **Clis2339: 62**

 **If you are on none of these lists, you are probably a non-submitter, and I have not included your name because I haven't seen a review in a while. If you'd like to be on any of these lists, let me know. Remember everyone, your donations can save lives!**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Careers: Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Loners who will likely get alliances eventually:**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Infiniti (3)**

 **Jasper (4)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Devon (5)**

 **Aran (6)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7)**

 **Kenzi (7)**

 **Henry (8)**

 **Tulle (8)**

 **Questions!:**

 **Of the above tributes, who would you align yourself with personally?**

 **Which would you be wary of?**

 **Would you like your tribute(s) in an alliance with any of these tributes? (If you'd like to wait to answer this until you've seen all the tributes, wait until then. This won't be made permanent until training begins, so you could say, "I'd like Jetta with the Careers!" If you really wanted to, I suppose):**

 **Thoughts on our present Career pack?**

 **Predictions for upcoming tributes?**

 **Don't die, and remember to brush your teeth,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	11. Amber Fields- District Nine

**And I'm back, with the tributes from the Grain District! Nine appears to be one of the stronger outer Districts this year, and I don't know about you, but I can't wait to watch them die! I mean, err… compete! I definitely said compete!**

 **I'm sorry with the long break. I had lots of finals and other crap... I will hopefully get 10 up next week before I go on vacation. While on vacation, I will hopefully write 11 and 12. In the days after I get back, I should have 13 up. If all goes well, of course.**

 **Reviews:**

 **Wolfie McCoy: Welcome to the Sponsors, it's good to have you! I feel you. If I were in the Games, I'd probably go in alone. It's safer that way. Hope you like Thanatos!**

 **dreams and desperation: Thanks, I'm glad you liked them!**

 **Clis2339: I'm glad you liked Henry, he was fun to write! I suppose Jasper would be a pretty good ally, considering he isn't as trained as the others. And you're right, District Nine is the last District that can have 15-year-olds, so 10-13 are already at a disadvantage.**

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I own this story, but not the idea. I own many characters, but not all of them. I own many Arenas, but not any I got from other authors, or any mentioned in the books or movies. All that I don't own goes to Suzanne Collins and/or Lionsgate Entertainment.**

 **Just a heads up, I will be changing the title of this story to** _ **Into the Darkness: The 6**_ _ **th**_ _ **Quarter Quell**_ **after the Reapings are all over. I just realized that** _ **150 Years and Counting: The 6**_ _ **th**_ _ **Quarter Quell**_ **is extremely long for a title. And it sounds like a TV show.**

 **First to catch the reference gets 5 extra points!**

 **Thanks to Wolfie McCoy for Thanatos!**

* * *

Thanatos Rize, Age 15, District 9

* * *

I flicked my wrist, instantly changing the direction of the pole in my hand. I swept it in an arc in front of me, causing the head of the dummy before me to collapse to the ground with a heavy _THUD_. Sighing in frustration, I threw the scythe into the wall of the old, rickety shack that I had called home since I was seven.

I hope that was confusing.

I lived in an old shack because of my family. They didn't die or anything, though I wouldn't complain… No, I ran away from home when I was seven years old, because I was the "evil" child. The "dark" child. I was the embodiment of everything wrong with the world.

Or so I was taught when I was little. You see, my parents are part of some bizarre religious cult. Even though it's technically illegal, they never missed a meeting and did everything as they were asked. This group, though, was pretty messed up. They hunted people for sport, they forced their "non-believer" children to take more tesserae, and they hated the mere idea of having more than one kid at a time.

Did I mention that I was a twin?

Ever since my twin sister, Aoife, and I were born, my family was seen as cursed. They're precious "Harpies," as they called themselves, shunned them, and did horrible things to them wherever they went. You see, if you have twins, they believe one is a holy gift from the gods, the other from the fiery depths of the underworld.

If you ever saw me, you'd see why I was pinned as the evil one from the start.

My skin was a ghastly white, my figure slim, and no hair on my head. No matter how much time I spent outside, I never tanned or even burned. My condition was so rare doctors didn't have a name for it. I was so sick of the looks I got at school, or from my parents, that I ran away, and came across something truly remarkable.

The Games.

Nobody in the district, not even the Peacekeepers, mention the name louder than a whisper. Me, I realized it was my one way out, the one way to escape the life I live. Sure, I could die, but that is honestly better than the life I've been leading.

The first thing that anyone in the Games learns about is keeping up appearances. Whether the girl from One is just a Glimmer of sunshine the whole Games, or the scruff boy from Eleven plans on "Reap"-ing all the other tributes, everyone creates their own face. Those who don't, well, they die. Most of the time, even those who _do_ die.

Once I had decided I would be in the Games, I looked through some old books in the various libraries around the District, looking for an alias for myself, and I found him. He's known as the "Grim Reaper." He even carried a scythe, the one weapon people from Nine can use. It was perfect.

So I trained. I swiped a scythe from a nearby grain plant, and taught myself how to use it to kill. I stole a set of black clothes, to use as my Reaping outfit, and I practiced how I would looked at the cameras confidently when I finally volunteered.

If you're going to play the Games, might as well play the Quarter Quell, right?

* * *

Harvest Miller, Age 14, District 9

* * *

I slowly woke from a very restful sleep. My eyes opened to light filtering through the curtains, making the room glow pink as the light reflected off the carpet. Wheat had had my room furnished in pink, purple, and brown, as those were "girly" colors. We always joked about how much he spoils me, but he really earned that right.

You see, the day I thought my life ended was the day of the Reapings for the 145th Games. Wheat was fourteen, and I was nine. Me and Mama couldn't find him in the crowd of children, and called it quits when the escort began speaking into the mic. We watched the video, the female tribute was called, and then we heard it.

Wheat's name.

After Papa died, Wheat was the only one old enough to work in the fields, and any money he earned was used to sustain the family. We couldn't lose another family member. Especially not to the Games.

By the time Wheat climbed out of the desert Arena three weeks into the games he had personally taken out four tributes, all of them Careers. We were just glad he was back.

Since then, we have lived with him in the Victor's Village, with the other two living Victors, and life was nice.

I slowly got out of bed, stretching any kinks out of my neck that had taken hold since I had fallen asleep. I raised my arms above my head, which caused the red silk pajama top I had on to expose my olive-colored stomach, sending a chill through my being.

I shivered slightly and strode over to my walk-in closet, where my Reaping dress hung from the doorknob. Throwing it on, I discarded my pajamas and sat before my pure white vanity.

If there's a rare trait in the District, it's dark skin, blond hair and blue eyes. Crazy as it sounds, I have all these traits. My eyes are a sparkling blue, and my hair is a very platinum blond. Picking a brush up from the vanity, I brushed my hair, whose slight curls enveloped my shoulders. After fixing the mess my slumber had created, I brushed any stray strands off my crème-colored dress and stepped into my black flats. Satisfied with my appearance, I nodded my head and made the surprisingly short walk down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Mother." I greeted cheerfully, a large smile on my face. "Is Wheat not up yet? He hasn't left yet, has he?" I questioned, peering into the front room to see if he was in his usual spot by the fireplace.

My mother, Maria, sighed, "He had to leave early. You know how it is, dear. The most loved Victors have interviews constantly. He's in the Capitol, with a couple of the other more recent Victors. I'm afraid we're unlikely to see him until the end of the Games. Orange juice, dear?"

I accepted graciously, digging into my pancakes and gulping down my juice. My mother only laughed, and went upstairs to get out of her bathrobe. As I finished my breakfast, I heard a knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" I called as I jogged to the door. Yanking it open, I greeted my best friend Kayla, and stepped outside.

"You ready to go?" She asked, flipping her long black hair out of her face. Her gray eyes watched me closely, calculating my every move.

"Yes I am!" I announced half-heartedly. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah." She answered. "I'm just worried, is all."

"That's understandable."

The Justice Building was just down the hill from the Victor's Village, so it was a short walk. The square was filled with people, but the usual population was much smaller, as the Reaping ages were limited. Those whose children weren't eligible stayed in their homes, watching the event on their high-resolution GPs. The Games Projectors were provided by the Capitol, of course.

Me and Kayla signed in, and shuffled over to the fourteen-year-old pen. Our 15-year escort, Friga-something, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a man dressed in a blood red suit listed off the names of District Nine's Victors. Demeter Hoe, the Ninth Games. Lamia Ladle, the Twenty-third Games. Ray Barley, the Twenty-ninth Games (Twentieth place in the Quell). Meadow Rye, the Fortieth Games (Third place in the Quell). Harvest Summer, the Seventy-eighth Games.

* * *

Thanatos Rize, Age 15, District 9

* * *

The District's living Victors stood up as the new escort, Stan Lees or something, called their names.

"The Eighty-fifth Games, Purcia Thresher!" In her early eighties, Purcia was a shell of a person. However, she still stood strong for the district. I'd only seen highlights, of course, but as far as I knew, she won her Games using strong poisons.

"The One Hundred Twenty-third Games, Bucky Peck!" At forty-five, Bucky's still young and handsome. The bags under his eyes, however, are proof of his restless nights. After killing 8 children, most of them by accident, I can see why.

"And finally, the One Hundred Forty-Fifth Games, Wheat Miller! He's in the Capitol having interviews, but I'm sure he's as excited as I am to see this year's tributes as I am!" He gave a little laugh. "But, before we meet them, we have a video from the Capitol!"

Usually, for the most part, I watch the video. But after hearing it every year for fifteen years, I really got sick of hearing it. It was always the same: The Third Quarter Quell, where Ray and Meadow fought valiantly, the attempted second rebellion, our duty as a citizen, blah blah blah.

"Wow!" Bloody Man said, "I'm so used to Ten that I forgot that Nine was my new assignment! Oh, well. I suppose It's time to Reap our tributes from District _Nine_ for the Sixth Quarter Quell!"

I looked around the Square, wondering who I was going to save. As I looked up at the stage, Bloody Man stopped his walk to the girls' bowls. His expression revealed he had had an epiphany. "You know what?" He asked as he stopped at the mic, "This is my first year in Nine, so let's mix it up a bit! Let us choose the gentleman first!"

He continued to the left of the stage, and threw his hands into the glass bowls. He quickly drew out a slip from each, and stepped back to the podium.

 _This is it, Than._ I thought, _now or never._ I opened my mouth to speak.

"Thanatos Rize!"

Slowly, I made my way up to the stage. I looked at a few of the screens around me, and saw that I looked shocked. I quickly erased the expression and thought through what I had taught myself to do. Back straight, legs closed, slightly shuffling. I looked at the screens again and saw that my corrected posture made me seem like I was gliding. As I mounted the steps, I heard the escort quietly moan. Refusing to look at him, I cracked a small smile. I heard him walk to the opposite bowls, and shuffle the slips of paper.

I heard him break the seal, and clear his throat.

* * *

Harvest Miller, Age 14, District 9

* * *

I felt my pulse quicken, my blood pounding in my ears. This was when Wheat went into the Games, at just fourteen. My ears were ringing, and I could just make out the man's lips.

The new escort announced the unlucky girl's name to the nation. He looked around for the girl, but by the confused look on his face I could tell she wouldn't appear. I vaguely heard someone screaming towards the back of the crowd. Was that _my mother_? Had I been Reaped? It couldn't have been, right? My brother won the Hunger Games. My name wasn't in the bowl. Right?

I regained my senses as a few peacekeepers swarmed the check-in table. Then the escort called out, "Harvest Miller, if you don't come up, the peacekeepers will force you. Don't bring that upon yourself, sweetie."

I couldn't breath. I couldn't think. Before I knew it, I was up on stage next to Thanatos and Stanleis. My ears began to ring again, and my nerves were shot. I was barely aware of Stanleis giving Thanatos my hand, and then leading us into the Justice Building.

* * *

Thanatos Rize, Age 15, District 9

* * *

As I sat in the Justice Building, I contemplated the day's events. I woke up, I practiced, I was Reaped. Honestly, I was glad I was Reaped. If I had volunteered, the Careers would already have put a target on my back. Having been Reaped, the Careers (probably) wouldn't see me as a threat. I could do some survival stuff during training, and show only the Gamemakers what I could do with a scythe. A fine strategy overall.

I jumped slightly when the door flew open. A flash of blond met my eyes and I recoiled when it tried to swallow me. Desperately, I looked around for a weapon.

At that moment, I heard the sobs filling the room. I looked down at my attacker, and tentatively asked in surprise, "Aoife?"

Like an obedient dog, she looked up at the sound of her name. Her chocolate brown, almond shaped eyes stared back at me, slightly red and puffy.

"What's wrong" I asked hesitantly, still slightly shocked.

She buried her face in my bony chest. "I'm so sorry, Thanny! I didn't know!"

I pushed her away, not comprehending. "What do you mean? Know what?"

"When you ran away, Mother told me it was your idea. She told me she would miss you but that there was no point in looking for you. They only told me last week what really happened!" She sobbed harder.

After a few minutes, after she had calmed down, I asked her angrily, "And what did you do, laugh?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no, Thanny! I've been looking for you ever since! I didn't even know whether you were still alive until today!" Her lip wavered, and she started crying again.

 _What an emotional mess this girl is_ , I thought.

* * *

Harvest Miller, Age 14, District 9

* * *

I waved goodbye to a receding Kayla as she was led out by a peacekeeper. We had just had a very long, heartfelt goodbye, where she cried pretty much the whole time. I didn't.

I had barely sat down when my mother burst through the door, her arms outstretched. I stood, accepting her embrace. She fell to her knees, and sobbed into my dress. "Not again." She kept saying, almost like a chant, "They already tried to take Wheat. Not again."

I patted her on the shoulder awkwardly. I didn't feel any emotion. Nothing for my mother to see. It was like my mind wasn't responding to the outside world, and I felt empty.

"I'm sorry." My mother was saying. "I'm so sorry, Harvest, I thought they'd be satisfied by now. But you can do this. Yes, you can do this. Wheat did, so can you." She looked into my eyes and gave a small smile.

My mind only seemed to be picking up one sentence: _I thought they'd be satisfied_...

I stepped back. "Mother, what do you mean?"

The story made me wonder if I ever knew my parents at all.

* * *

Wheat Miller, Age 19, District 9

* * *

My breathing was short and ragged as I ran across the luxurious apartment the Capitol had provided for me. As I wasn't staying in the Training Center, they had to put me up somewhereso I could make it to all my interviews.

I found the V-Home console and scrolled through the "District" menu. Once I had found the contact I was looking for, I tapped the green icon.

"District Nine Justice Building, Kilet speaking." The voice resounded from the console, and I sighed in relief.

"Yes, this is Wheat Miller speaking. Is a Mr. Stanleis Harrow there?" I asked, not caring how informal I sounded. "I'd like to speak to him about a tribute."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Harrow has asked to not be disturbed."

"I am a Victor. He will take my call whether he wants to or not!" I growled furiously, "If you value your job, I suggest you get him on the phone." I heard the man squeak a "yes sir" before a door opened, followed by light footfalls.

I may not be able to get my sister out of the Games, but I'll sure as heck make sure she survives them.

* * *

Harvest Summer, Age 86 (14), District 9

* * *

I glared at Kinzie and Gloss as we were led down the hall out of the hibernation room. To my left was Cecelia, who was looking at the Career mentors the same as I was. I didn't have to look behind me to see Velvet on a gurney.

In the hallway, all the dead mentors were flanked by nurses with electric rods. In the hallway were Gloss Xerces from One, Matrix Volt and Ingrid Relbot from Three, Kinzie Wrasse from Four, Matt Electrode from Five, Lily Jeng from Seven, Cecelia and Velvet, myself, and Slatia Mist from Twelve. Austin Bean from Ten was still waking up, and I had been told that Kiara Enygma from Six was in her room under heavy sedatives.

I looked back at Velvet, and remembered the scuffle in the waking room.

I had woken up to yelling. Kinzie and Gloss were arguing with the Victors from Eight, and I ran to back them up. I said a few choice words, and Gloss ended up trying to hit me. By the end of it, Kinzie and Cecelia were fighting tooth and nail, Velvet was passed out cold and Gloss was flat on his back, having been flipped over my knee.

The nurses decided it would be best to evacuate us then, so we could "start preparing." I doubted they really cared about the fight that had broken out. After all, "a little ointment could fix Gloss' spine."

* * *

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know:**

 **dreams and desperation: 83**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 74**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 68**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 59**

 **jayman1919: 59**

 **We're All Okay: 56**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **The Rsce: 62**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **InfiniteDespair: 53**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 53**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Here are the submitters who have not reviewed (If I don't know you're reading, I may kill your tribute(s). Just saying) (and I like your tributes, so don't let them down now!):**

 **superepicstarkette1211**

 **And finally, here are the people who for sure AREN'T Sponsoring:**

 **Clis2339: 65**

 **If you are on none of these lists, you are probably a non-submitter, and I have not included your name because I haven't seen a review in a while. If you'd like to be on any of these lists, let me know. Remember everyone, your donations can save lives!**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Careers: Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Loners who will likely get alliances eventually:**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Infiniti (3)**

 **Jasper (4)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Devon (5)**

 **Aran (6)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7)**

 **Kenzi (7)**

 **Henry (8)**

 **Tulle (8)**

 **Thanatos (9)**

 **Harvest (9)**

 **Questions!:**

 **Which of these Districts do you think will be wiped out first?**

 **Which tribute(s) are you excited to see again?**

 **What do you think the Arena will be like?**

 **Long live the Capitol,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	12. Cattle Ranches- District Ten

**Hello, FanFictioneers! I am Lord Zagreus, and I will be your host for today! Today, we will be meeting Denny and Cheyenne, the tributes from the Livestock District for the 6** **th** **Quarter Quell! Before we do that, though, I have to address a few things.**

 **Reviews:**

 **dreams and desperation: Thanks you for your review. You are the most faithful thus far, having reviewed every chapter from the beginning. The reason it said you had already reviewed chapter 11 was because you did, I just deleted the first chapter a little while back.**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: You got the references, congratulations! Of course, the title change was coincidental, but you got Stan Lee and Glimmer! Congrats, 13 points! Thanks for your review!**

 **I do not own the Hunger Games, or anything else I happen to reference.**

 **I will change the title of this story to** _ **Into the Darkness: The 6**_ _ **th**_ _ **Quarter Quell**_ **after the Reapings. I hope you are reading my author's notes, otherwise it will be a little harder to find this story later on.**

 **Reviews are welcome and appreciated! I jump for joy every time my phone vibrates. Unless I'm driving. In which case, you probably wouldn't hear from me. Like ever. 'Cuz I'd crash. And burn.**

 **TranscendentElvenRanger's** _ **Forest of Death: the 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **has begun! I've lost Phoenix and little Cotton to the bloodbath, but Atalanta is still in the running! She already lost her brother to the Quell, people! Let's bring her home!**

 **Thanks to Mystical Pine Forest and faceless eater aka slendergirl for Cheyenne and Denny.**

* * *

Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10 Female Tribute

* * *

A slight breeze was blowing across the fields of District Ten. Most days, the fields would be filled with cattle, and other various livestock, as is our industry. However, for the most part, the whole District was eerily quiet on that particular day.

Of course, people are seldom outside their homes taking care of animals on Reaping day.

Those who didn't have to go to the dreaded event were taking shelter where they could, and those who had eligible children were, for the most part, consoling them as they wept in their beds. Not me, though.

Not that I wasn't scared. Everybody's scared on Reaping day, whether they're eligible for the Games or not. I was outside that morning simply because I didn't want to be indoors. Outside, with the wind in my long, dark brown hair, I was free. Being a little tall for my age, I put my longer legs to good use on a daily basis, taking little runs around my family's lot. My skin was very tan, after constantly being assaulted by rays from the sun my whole life.

Having corralled the cows earlier, I was lying in the grass behind my family's little house, next to Lassie. Lassie was a three-year-old black lab, whom I have always adored. She helps with the chores, and we give her lots of love in return.

I was nearly asleep when I heard a voice calling my name. Smiling, I sat up and rubbed the drowsiness from my eyes. I was definitely going to need a nap later. I stood, and fell flat on my butt when a sudden dizziness overcame me. Giggling a little, I tried again, still light-headed, but I fought through it. By the time I made it to the back porch, I was fine.

I brushed some stray strands of hair out of my eyes and behind my ears. I mounted the steps to the porch, and looked into my mother's face. Her smile seemed to glow, and I grinned wider.

"It will be time to leave soon." She spoke barely above a whisper. Her smile faltered slightly, but it was back instantly and I wondered if I had imagined it. "You'd best go get ready, Cheyenne. You know you can't be tardy." She kissed my forehead, and ushered me inside.

Turning swiftly, I ran through the open back door and to the front room, where the staircase stood. Its white paint was scratched and rubbed from the many years me and my sister, Charlotte, had chased each other around the house.

I was just turning the corner to the room Charlotte and I shared when I ran into her. An involuntary shriek escaped her lips and she glared at me. I stuck my tongue at her and she scowled as she made her way to the stairs. Our relationship had been off since the Quell reading. Since she was sixteen, she wasn't part of the Reapings, making me a little jealous.

The room Char and I shared wasn't all that nice. There were two cots, one on either side of the room, each green with a single pillow and jean quilt. Using wire and sheets, we had created private quarters, with something resembling a hallway leading from the door to the closet. Overall, the room was very clean.

I pulled back the white sheet that made my wall, and lifted my Reaping outfit from the cot. Placing it on the small dresser, I quickly undressed. As I threw on the dress, I examined it for any tears that had previously escaped my notice.

The yellow sun dress was faded from the few summer days I had actually worn it. It had thin straps to hold it on my body, and ran down to my knees. A few spots were white from where Charlotte had accidently bleached it years ago. I opted to wear a light brown leather jacket over the dress, with some leather boots to match.

I took the little hand mirror from the dresser and held it up to my face. My brown eyes were boring as ever, my freckles proving just how young I was. I placed the mirror back on the dresser, and stepped back. The dress was a little big on my lean, fairly athletic body, but I supposed it would have to do.

As I descended the stairs, I heard my mother calling from the living room, "Charles, are you ready yet? We can't be late, you know!" At 37, Mama hadn't been late for a single Reaping she had had to attend. Papa, however…

"Just a moment, Vivian! I've only just found my dress pants!" Aged at forty, Papa had missed his fair share of Reapings, due to having too many chores to do growing up. He got the family's land, though.

I made it to the front door as Papa arrived, his shirt collar sticking up partially and only halfway tucked into his trousers. Mama laughed as he finished preparing, and we headed out.

* * *

Denny Rico, Age 14, District 10 Male Tribute

* * *

I rolled the grass ball across the deck, and watched as the furry creature before me scurried after it, picking it up in its jaws. He tried to drop it off at my feet, which were bare, but his two front teeth were stuck between strands of straw. I gave a little tug, and it came free. I gave it another little toss, and the rat scurried after it.

Yes, you heard right. The rat, whom I called Tenner, was saved when I took a liking to him a couple years ago, and I have kept him since. You see, my mother and I own a "rat farm," where we breed rats and sell them to Capitol Labs. There, they do they're crazy experiments on them, or abandon them in the Arena.

I saw Tenner in one of the heavy crates as I was loading it onto the train, taking note of his strange gold hair and pristine white teeth. I hurriedly shoved him in my knapsack and smuggled him home. My mother ended up scolding me, but eventually caved.

My life in Ten was okay. I was well fed, my only work was in the rat pits, I was well clothed and had a fairly nice home to live in. I basically wanted for nothing.

I never knew my father. I was an "accident," though my mother would never say it out loud. She doesn't talk about him, but I could tell she really liked him. I have no siblings, and so it's just her and I. And Tenner.

Tenner dropped the fraying ball at my feet, his teeth having torn through the frail yellow strands. I looked at him and sighed. That was the third ball he had destroyed in as many days.

I slowly stood, snatching Tenner off the porch. Hugging him to my body so he wouldn't panic, I opened the screen door and walked inside the house. My home isn't that impressive. Being a single story, like most in Ten, there wasn't much room for furniture or decoration, not that we could afford it.

The floor was made of bare wood, the walls imitating. A few wood-and-cowhide chairs formed a little sitting area, where my mother would often host Capitol scientists when they came to negotiate prices for our rats. A white sheet was set up so we could watch mandatory viewing, like the Quell reading and the Games.

My mother, Sammy, was sitting in her favorite chair, made by her father. The wood was an ashy black, as if carved from coal. The back and cushion were made from coarse brown hair from a bison. She rocked back and forth, knitting while absentmindedly watching the Reapings of District Nine.

She looked up when I walked in, and spoke, "It's almost time to go, sweetie. You'd best go get ready. I'll be waiting here for you." I smiled and turned, careful not to drop Tenner as I strode into my small room.

Carefully placing Tenner on the floor, I looked around. On the wall opposite the door, a small window looked out into District Ten's Urban Ranches, a collection of small farms dotting the countryside outside the main city, where executives, peacekeepers, and other (mainly Capitolian) high life lived. Any Tens who lived there had money to keep themselves fairly well fed, and their skin is, for the most part, pale. In Ten, these people are mostly known as simply "City Folk." The poor, deeply tanned farmers are known as "Ranchers."

On my bed was half my Reaping outfit, a blue collared shirt. I had been wearing my blue jeans all day, as my mother had told me to wear my Reaping clothes. The shirt was uncomfortable, though. On a table next to my straw bed was a bowl of water. Cupping my hands in the water, I washed my face, trying to scrub the dirt that seems to collect everywhere.

The door opened as I finished washing my wild, curly black hair. I turned, but found that some water had leaked into my bright green eyes. Wiping it away, I glared at Zeek Alabaster.

"You couldn't knock? I could have been naked for all you knew, you little-" I raised my hands, like I was strangling the life out of someone. Zeek just looked up at my 6'1" frame, a smirk on his face. Working on a pig farm, Zeek's muscular system surpassed my own long ago, even if I'm taller and the same age.

His smile was infectious. "You ready to go or not?" He asked.

I gave a small chuckle. "Just let me get my shirt on and we'll go." I turned, grabbing the shirt and pulling it over my head. I heard fabric ripping and something thudded to the floor. I finished pulling on the shirt and looked down.

"Guess I'm going shirtless." I shrugged.

* * *

Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10 Female Tribute

* * *

"I'm so nervous." Rachelle Stalli said for the hundredth time.

"I think we all are." I said for the hundredth time. "Can you just _shut up?_ "

"C'mon guys, stop it! We're almost there!" Unlike Rachelle and me, Faye Maron, my best friend, was 12 and experiencing her first-ever Reaping. She was used to our little fights, and for the past month Rachelle had been mad at me because I had only three slips in the bowl and she had eight.

To my right, a voice stated, "Next." Faye looked at me nervously as she gave her arm to the female peacekeeper signing in the children. She pricked Faye's finger and an automated voice announced, "Faye Alicia Maron, Age 12, fourteen tesserae. Proceed."

Rachelle and I signed in, and walked to the thirteen-year-old female pen. I really didn't like how much I felt like the cattle I helped raise.

The new escort strode onto the stage with as much dignity as he could muster. His thin glasses were on the end of his large nose, and he looked down at us with contempt. He introduced himself as "Sir Rhenough," and spoke very formally. He pulled out a card and read in a very practiced voice.

"And now, we honor the Victors of District Ten, who have fought valiantly in eight different Arenas, and yet all clambered their way to the crown." He paused for effect. Nobody cared. "Your first ever Victor, climbing over the bodies of seven other tributes at the age of fifteen, Austin Bean of the 13th Hunger Games. She won the 34th Games at the age of 18, and placed 15th in the Quell of Victors, Reita Hare! He won not only the 56th Hunger Games, but he won the hearts of all in Panem. He placed 12th in the Quell, Lucas Chaser!

"After the Quell, Bulla Reese won the 81st Games without a mentor, astounding all at the age of 13! Currently 73, he won the 93rd Hunger Games, Leather Hardy!" A man with a shock of white hair stood up on stage, and sat back down. "At 14, Brodi McCoy won the 102nd Hunger Games. Even though he isn't here, he still bested the Arena!" Brodi hung himself with his belt after losing his daughter to the Quell and son to the 126th games. "And finally, Ten's most recent Victor, the Victor of the 118th Hunger Games, Tabitha Shearer!" Tabitha didn't stand, as her lower back was paralyzed during her Games.

"Thank you, District Ten for your tributes, and your Victors. Most districts write you off early, but this year, I'm sure you'll prevail! Now, a video from the Capitol!"

The screens around the square came to life, talking about the Games and the justice and peace that was born in their existence. It had the part about the girl from Twelve dying in the Quell. It talked about Reita and Lucas valiantly fighting in the Quell, where Reita drowned in a tidal wave and Lucas was ripped apart by a creature only known as "The Beast."

My heart started racing as the national anthem rang out.

* * *

Denny Rico, Age 14, District 10 Male Tribute

* * *

As the screen faded to black, Rhenough stepped up to the mic. "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for! I shall Reap my first tributes for District Ten!" He held his head high as he marched to the bowls on the girls' side of the stage. Dramatically, he threw a hand into each bowl, coming up with a single sheet of paper from each.

When he announced the female's name, his voice dropped lower. Everything the guy did was with bravado.

"Cheyenne Bruno! Please come on up, sweetie, and claim the honor that is yours!" He looked out over the females expectantly, a hunger in his eyes. Shouting broke out from the 13-year-old section, and I noted a girl with brown hair and skin as dark as my own shoving her way to the outer edge of the pens. Once at the valet ropes, she jumped it and ran for her life.

Peacekeepers broke away to pursue her. She was fast, very fast, but the peacekeepers would catch her eventually, I knew. Undeterred, Rhenough continued his little theatre.

"Well then. While we wait for sweet Cheyenne, let's Reap the male tribute from Ten, shall we?" He copied his purposeful gait to the bowls on the boys' side, and I held my breath. _Please don't be me_. I pleaded, _please don't be me._

"And the male tribute for District Ten is… Dmitri Reynolds!" The whole square, including myself, gasped in shock. Everyone knew Dmitri. He was a little kid who had his legs amputated after getting trampled by a stampede of some horse/crocodile hybrid when he was five or six. As if his life couldn't get any worse, he was Reaped at the age of 12 to compete in the Hunger Games.

Another boy was pushing Dmitri up to the stage in his wheelchair, made from various materials the district had put together. Both boys were crying profusely.

"Now then." Rhenough declared with disgust, "Do we have _any_ volunteers?" The boys looked at each other. Ten hardly ever got volunteers. Nobody was brave enough to test their luck in the Arena.

I'll likely never know what overcame me. A sense of unfairness, maybe. Pity. Maybe I had a death wish. But I raised my hand and opened my mouth and _good golly I volunteered._

As I made my way up to the stage, Dmitri was wheeled down the steps very carefully. He cried out his thanks and kissed my hands. I was only a couple years older than him, but to him I was a saint. His savior. I inclined my head and stood next to Rhenough, a small sense of pride swelling inside me.

One that died completely once I saw the look of horror on Mother's face. Sweat swam freely down my bare torso, whether from the sun or fear it didn't matter.

"And what's your name, lad?" Our escort asked, looking up at me.

"Denny Rico." I tried to avoid the stares of everyone I ever knew. I wanted to say more, but Rhenough stopped me.

"District Ten, your tributes! Cheyenne Bruno and Denny Rico!" As he ushered me into the Justice Building, he muttered, "They better catch that foolish girl. Foolish girl."

* * *

Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10 Female Tribute

* * *

I was screaming as the peacekeepers threw me into the room set aside in the Justice Building for my goodbyes. I had successfully evaded them for no less than a half hour, and I had just thought I had gotten away when I was suddenly surrounded by at least a dozen of the men in white.

When my parents walked in, I curled up in the corner, allowing the sobs to shake my body. "I don't want to die." I murmured, "I don't want to die." I cried harder, unwilling to meet the eyes of the people who raised me.

I froze when two large hands lifted me up and into an embrace. I was still in the fetal position, and it was slightly uncomfortable. A smaller framed sandwiched me with another hug, and I couldn't help but raise my head.

"Papa?" I croaked. I tried, unsuccessfully, to wipe the tears from my eyes. I unfolded my arms from my body, and threw them around him. "I don't want to die, Papa." I whispered, "Please don't let me die."

He smiled at me kindly and spoke even kinder, "You have to go, sweetheart. There's nothing you, or anyone can do about that." He chuckled softly, "but hey, you tried!"

I couldn't help but release a little laugh to. "I don't even know who else was Reaped. How long was I gone, Mama?" I asked as I turned to her.

"Chey, we waited for you to return for a good forty minutes. You can use that, you know."

"Use what?"

She smiled. "Speed is the one thing that can save anyone in the Arena. You can get supplies, and avoid other tributes. All you have to do is outlast them. That's how most Twelves win." She held her gaze to my own. "You can win this, Cheyenne. Many decades ago, a little girl named Bulla Reese won the Hunger Games. She avoided all other contact, and one without killing an opponent. We believe in you, Cheyenne Bruno."

I opened my mouth to speak when a "Time's up!" echoed across the room. Papa put me down, and they walked out, trying to not show me their fear. The closing door felt like a tomb.

* * *

Denny Rico, Age 14, District 10 Male Tribute

* * *

I knew I couldn't face anyone for my goodbyes, so I asked the peacekeeper stationed outside my door to keep out all visitors. I told him I would only accept Tenner, but he looked at me like I was crazy. So, I just shrugged it off and sat in the nice chair that I would never admit I liked more than my mother's.

Being a tribute in the Hunger Games hadn't sunk in quite yet. After all, it wasn't my name called. Who'd have thought the course of your life could change with just a few words? There's a slight chance I could win, everybody had some chance. Except for Dmitri. He had no chance.

I thought about the other Districts. One probably had two volunteers, per usual. The boy probably threw spears, and the girl used a bow. With 18 Victories, they'd likely be a major threat. Two probably had a couple of brutes, both of them able to use a large variety of weapons. They'd get a lot of Sponsors, what with a looming third Victory and all. Three'd likely have a couple of brainiacs, capable of unspeakable carnage with the right tools.

Four is usually the wild card of the Career Pack. Being behind the Sevens Victory-wise, they'll probably lose their position in the near future. To protect that, they'd probably be especially difficult. Five, Six, and Eight usually have next to no skills for the Arena, unlike Seven, Nine, Ten, and Eleven. Twelve is going to be especially weak, and Thirteen has been cheated against since the Fourth Quell.

Ten's seven Victors usually won by luck. When Austin won the Thirteenth Games, the Careers hadn't been formed yet. Reita had a strength of will unmatched by anyone. Lucas seduced the Two boy to get into the Career alliance. Bulla outlasted everybody in her desert Arena. Leather won after the Careers all went down at the Cornucopia. Brodi threw together a giant alliance. And Tabitha, well, her skills with a whip gave no tribute a chance.

As screams filled the Justice Building, I realized I was doomed.

* * *

Tabitha Shearer, Age 47, District 10 Female Mentor

118th Hunger Games Victor

* * *

I patted the spiked leather whip at my waist, assuring myself it was there. I was on the train, still in my wheelchair, waiting for the newest batch of sacrificial lambs to board the last luxury they'll likely encounter for the rest of their lives. I sighed knowing they'd probably die.

Over the course of the Games, Ten had given up 298 children to the Games. Seven had come back alive, and two had been sent back to the Arena. Overall, Ten had lost 291 children and two adults. A large number, if you ever asked me.

When I saw Cheyenne run the way she did, I thought to myself, _I just might have my first Victor_. For the first time in 32 years, since my own Games where I killed six children, I knew I had a chance.

As a result, I wheeled myself over to Rhenough and volunteered to mentor. He was surprised, but didn't object. As she boarded the train and came into my view, I was pleased to see her eyes clear and her emotions under control. It was then I truly believed she could really do it.

Look out, little tributes. Tabitha Shearer has a contender.

* * *

Austin Bean, Age 152 (15), District 10 Male Mentor

13th Hunger Games Victor

* * *

I awoke with a pounding headache. Moaning, I reached to my right for a glass of water, but found none. I opened my eyes, and moaned even louder, and it wasn't just from the lights.

I was back in Capitol Hibernation Labs, where they brought back old, dead Victors to mentor tributes in the Games. The idea became a reality after the 89th, and I've been brought back often since. I looked around the room, which was completely empty.

The sliding glass doors in front of me opened, and in walked a Capitol nurse with reptilian grey skin, and long, sharp claws. She was wearing the usual white uniform and little hat. Holding a clipboard, she looked like a small child who couldn't decide what to dress up as.

"Oh, Mr. Bean, you're awake!" She exclaimed. "That's great. If you'll just come with me, I'll take you to your flat."

"What's the hurry?" I asked, clutching my head, "And where's everybody else?"

She yanked me to my feet with surprising strength, and hissed, "Your tributes are almost here, _Victor_. The others have already left. Now get moving!"

I obeyed, but the pounding in my head refused to cease.

* * *

 **And just like that, Ten is out of my way!**

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know:**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 87**

 **dreams and desperation: 86**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 68**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 59**

 **jayman1919: 59**

 **We're All Okay: 56**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **The Rsce: 62**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **InfiniteDespair: 53**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 53**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Here are the submitters who have not reviewed (If I don't know you're reading, I may kill your tribute(s). Just saying) (and I like your tributes, so don't let them down now!):**

 **superepicstarkette1211**

 **If you are on none of these lists, you are probably a non-submitter, and I have not included your name because I haven't seen a review in a while. If you'd like to be on any of these lists, let me know. Remember everyone, your donations can save lives!**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Careers: Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Loners who will likely get alliances eventually:**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Infiniti (3)**

 **Jasper (4)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Devon (5)**

 **Aran (6)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7)**

 **Kenzi (7)**

 **Henry (8)**

 **Tulle (8)**

 **Thanatos (9)**

 **Harvest (9)**

 **Denny (10)**

 **Cheyenne (10)**

 **Questions!:**

 **Who would you like to see on the trains?**

 **In the Games, would you ally with your district partner?**

 **What do you think the odds of your tribute(s) winning are?**

 **Until we meet Eleven,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	13. Apple Orchards- District Eleven

**And here we are, in the wonderfully, er… earthy District Eleven! Here we will be meeting Willow Orchids and Thorn Ashburry, a couple 13-year-olds from the Agriculture District. Are you excited? I'm excited!**

 **Yes I was gone. Yes, I'm sure you didn't care too much. After all, my story isn't the only thing that keeps you going, right? Three weeks, consisting of a) the beach, b) Driver's Ed (taking half the day) and c) mountains of Driver's Ed homework (that took the other half of the day). Lucky for me, and whoever honestly follows my writing religiously, I passed the class and am free for the rest of the Summer. My unrealistic goal for today is: be in the Capitol within a week (Thursday).**

 **Reviews!**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: Thanks for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed how I wrote Denny, I hope I did Willow justice. Can't wait to hear from you again!**

 **dreams and desperation: Look, I understand that you want Cyma alive. I get that. You have lost more tributes thus far. Heck, one of your tributes placed second! That's gotta hurt. Tell ya what. Throw support behind my Atalanta, and I'll guarantee Cassia makes Top 25. Deal? Honestly, though, I wish you luck. All I ask for is some in return. As of now, I haven't had any tribute make the top half!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: I'm gonna be flat out honest right here. Age doesn't matter to me in the Hunger Games. I believe a 12-year old could win, as has happened on 3 occasions. Since the 3** **rd** **Quell, 13 children have walked out of the Arena at 13, one of them from Ten. Don't count Cheyenne out yet!**

 **jayman1919: I'm glad you liked them, even if they weren't your tributes. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **TranscendentElvenRanger: I'm glad you liked Cheyenne, she's one of my favorite tributes too. If she gets enough support behind her, I'm sure we'll see her on the trains.** _ **Mathematically**_ **speaking, you actually have a 3:26 chance. Remember, Thirteen is in these Games, too.**

 **The Rcse: I'm glad you feel that way, I felt the same. There will be a poll once the Reapings are over, to select the train tributes. I'm sure both your tributes will make it far, what with Mera being in a 5-person alliance off the bat, and people love Devon. (Check the Sponsors section) Happy Hunger Games!**

 **Yet another heads-up: When the Reapings are over, I will be changing the story's title to** _ **Into the Darkness: The 6**_ _ **th**_ _ **Quarter Quell.**_ **The current one is a bit of a mouthful.**

 **In TranscendentElvenRanger's** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my District One female tribute, Atalanta Bliss, is a confirmed survivor of Day 4, with 1 kill. Let's give her some support!**

 **I am not Suzanne Collins. I do not own the Hunger Games, or anything else I reference.**

 **When you're done reading the chapter, check out the Sponsor points. Something's changed slightly.**

 **Thanks to** _ **faceless eater aka slendergirl**_ **and** _ **CreativeAJL**_ **for Willow and Thorn!**

* * *

Willow Orchids, Age 13, District 11 Female

* * *

"I'm serious, Willow, you need to be more careful. One day, your tongue will betray you, and you'll end up hung in the middle of the square. Quick thinking won't hel- why are you smiling? This isn't funny, Willow!" Asher was lecturing me for the thousandth time. I had almost been caught by the peacekeepers in the orchards, _again_ , but I thought quick and dropped an easy lie. I dropped my smile, and Asher held his hands to his temples.

Behind him, Hans contorted his face, and I giggled.

Earlier that morning, I had been doing some "extra work" in the orchards outside Sector 4, out by the wall. In the midst of tending to the orange trees, I had slipped a few into my satchel. On my way home, I was stopped by a peacekeeper officer and a few others. They asked me what was in my satchel, and I told them. All they saw were the rocks I carefully placed around the fruits.

"Oh, but dear brother, you haven't seen what I scored yet." I pouted before he could start talking again. I raised my eyebrows in a dramatic matter, "Aren't you a little curious, Asher dear?" Seeing the quizzical look in his eyes, I gave another grin and grabbed the satchel from where it hung on the wall of our scrap heap of a home.

As I carefully pulled out the rocks and placed them on the cold, hard dirt floor, Asher sighed. "Rocks aren't illegal, Willow. You can get them anywhere. Here's another one." I watched his face as he bent over, picking a pebble from the ground. As he turned back to me, he started, "Those really weren't wor-"

I laughed as he paused, his ebony eyes widening. The light brown skin around his face creased as his mouth mimicked the smile on my face.

"For my twin, you don't have any faith in me." I laughed as I tossed him the orange I held in my hand, and then proceeded to dig through the bag to produce three more oranges. One of them had been crushed slightly by the large rocks, so I opted to keep it for myself. I flicked my wrist, sending one fruit spiraling through the air and into Hans' upturned palms. I handed the other to Mira, who had helped quite a bit with the escapade.

We all hurriedly ripped open our oranges, biting into the flesh greedily. We all moaned as one, attempting to keep the delicious juices from dripping from our chins. Hans, Mira and I sat down on the three available stools in the room, and Asher plopped himself down into Hans' lap. We were just preparing to enjoy another round, when the front door opened.

We all hopped to our feet, more than a little startled, and gazed at the bright doorway. A dark figure stepped inside, and we all sighed in relief as she hung up her shawl. She looked around at all of us, and shook her head.

"Mira, your mother's been asking after you, and needs you home. Asher, Willow, I need your Reaping clothes on your bodies ASAP. And Hans," She looked to where he and my brother were cuddling. She broke her kind voice slightly and filled it with sarcastic venom, "release my little brother, boy, before I smack you upside your little head!" He only laughed and untangled himself.

When all that remained was the remnants of the Orchids family, Asher and I split and wandered to our separate rooms. "Rooms," of course, is a bit of a stretch. Each room was really just a wire or string set across a corner, a fabric of some sort draped over it.

As I closed the makeshift black curtain, I dressed out of my gray jumpsuit, wincing slightly at the cold dirt that met my feet. Giving a slight groan, I swiftly swiped my Reaping clothes off an old, rusting shelf that I had to try not to cut myself with. Draped in my arms were a simple skirt and blouse, both originally a pale green, both now a bleached white.

Carefully putting the clothes on so as to avoid the jutting metal, I noticed something that hadn't been there earlier that morning. I reached out and grabbed the piece of paper, holding it carefully in my hands. Three people were in the photo, a small girl, eight or nine, sat between two grinning adults. On the left was a woman who, like me and Asher, had ebony eyes, light brown skin, and brown wavy hair. On the right, a man, with darker skin, short-cropped black hair, and bright blue eyes, a near exact copy of the little girl.

Or of Mint.

Looking at the picture longingly, I sighed. Mint had told me the story hundreds of times. How Asher and I were born, and our mother died because of it. In grief, our father had disappeared, leaving nine-year-old Mint with two newborns and no way to care for them.

I hugged my older sister tighter than ever as she told me to get in lines for the Reapings.

* * *

Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District 11 Male

* * *

"We have just received confirmation that District Ten tribute Cheyenne Bruno has finally been detained." Julius Incandes announced with a gleeful smile. As the Master of Ceremonies, he had been evaluating each of the tributes, calling various Victors and other authorities to speculate. The joy he held for a little girl entering a death match with twenty-five others made me mad. Then again, pretty much anything Capitol-related made me mad.

A few years ago, before even my older sister was of Reaping age, my mother disappeared. Nobody knew where she went, other than she left in the middle of the night. My father cried all that day, and fell behind on his work. The peacekeepers flogged him in the middle of the District, and, after finding out what happened, interrogated the whole family.

This "interrogation" included 3 things. Stage One: Break into the family's home and destroy everything. Stage Two: Shoot the only girl in the arm to get an answer. Stage Three: Get your head bashed in late that night by an unidentified attacker, and not remember any details of the attack.

And before you ask it, yes, I was the "unidentified attacker" and no, that peacekeeper is not in the District anymore.

I groaned as I got off the couch, working the small kinks that had worked their way into my neck throughout the morning. Both those kids from Ten were around my age, and, more than likely, neither of them were going to leave the Arena alive. They were going to be butchered like pigs, I knew, like they did every year.

I raised my hands to my temples and rubbed slowly, taking it all in. The surprise volunteers from One and Four. The overconfident boy from Two, with the Victor sister. The young mother from Five. The slip of a girl from Six. The crazy one from Seven. The tears from Eight. The little girl from Nine, Reaped five years before. The runaway from Ten. And soon, a couple of young, sobbing twelve-year-olds from Eleven, ripped away from the fields of amber they had called home for so long.

It could be me.

Without the Quell, I wouldn't have been worried. With only four slips, the odds were in my favor more than ever. With the reduced age requirements, however, every tribute candidate has a low amount of slips.

I was torn from my thoughts as footsteps rounded the corner from the room we used as our kitchen. Turning, I saw it was my older sister, Jessica. Upon seeing me, she held her arm out (the one NOT in a sling) and ran forward, embracing me. The hugs had become more and more frequent since the Quell announcement. I think it's because she's seventeen and therefore not eligible.

She took a step back, meeting my eyes. "You ready for today, Thorn?" She asked, then leaned forward, looking me over. "Is that honestly what you're wearing?"

I looked down at myself, imagining how I must have looked to her. My curly black hair reached the tips of my small ears, being the butt of many jokes. My chocolate brown eyes and small nose add to the look of innocence. Puffy cheeks, indicating a bit of chubbiness that in no way exists. A white t-shirt, blue jeans, and worn, dirty white shoes on my 5'5", 102 pound frame. Most of that weight is muscle from the fields, though.

"I don't see why not. Are you honestly wearing _that?_ " I gestured to her arm. Though she was shot years ago, she still needed the sling because the bullet shattered her shoulder. Before she could even work, she was "unfit" for it.

She smirked and held her good arm out like she wanted to squeeze my neck. "If only I had two arms, you little butt." She laughed, I laughed, the booming voice behind me laughed.

Before I could turn, I was lifted off my feet with a large, hairy arm. My father then proceeded to carefully envelope Jessica in his embrace. He gave us each a little squeeze. "Ooooh, I love these two kids!" He quickly put me down and released Jessica as bells tolled. He sighed. "I suppose we'd better leave." His face hardened with worry.

I smiled and hugged him in an attempt to cheer him up. "Can I go get Iliana and Jayden, dad? I told them I'd walk with them."

His smile returned, a certain level of fondness in his eyes. "Yes, of course." His gruff voice permitted kindly. With one last hug, I walked out, looking back at the house for what I had been dreading might be the last time.

I shook my head and jogged down the empty, dry street to where my best friends lived. I tried not to look at the mailbox, which read:

 _Jacob_ _and_ _Izabelle_ _Ashburry_

 _17 Cherry Tree Lane_

If only Mother knew how much Father had paid for her absence.

* * *

Willow Orchids, Age 13, District 11 Female

* * *

I was standing alone in the 13-year-old section, waiting for the video to start and the escort to shut her mouth. After announcing her name, (Jora Nettles) she began to talk about courage and honor. How District Eleven always gives good tributes, ones play the game well regardless of age or physical limit. How nine children ever made it back, and they had every right to have made it.

"And now, dear citizens of District Eleven, a presentation from the Capitol, for your enjoyment!" She cried.

Everything went quiet, as nobody wanted to get caught being disrespectful to the video. The voice, clearly the President's, read out to the people. He talked about the Games, why they were made, and why they're still an annual event. He talked about the Districts and they're obedience. The Girl on Fire and her little rebellion. The Quell, and how, though Chaff and Seeder placed eleventh and nineteenth, they fought well.

By the end of the video, Jora was wiping her eyes. "Wasn't that wonderful?" She asked. "You should see Thirteen's. It is dreadfully boring!" She gave a high-pitched, squeaky laugh, but quieted quickly after realizing nobody was laughing with her. "Well then." She continued, "I suppose I should name your _valiant_ Victors." Her voice was laced with venom, and the girl next to me jumped.

"District Eleven has won nine of the past one-hundred forty-nine Hunger Games." I rolled my eyes at that. Her attempt of comedy had failed, and now she was trying to bore us to death? "The first Victor from these fields was Elizabeth Lilac, the Victor of the Third Hunger Games. Next a young man, named Korn Flower," She smirked at the odd name, "won the Twentieth. Seeder Yew, the Victor of the Thirty-Third Games, placed nineteenth when Enobaria Chaet stabbed her with a spear in the Bloodbath of the Seventy-Fifth. Seeder's first Victor, Chaff Kane, was no match when Brutus Stoner snapped his neck, placing him in eleventh.

"The first Victor since those Games, Orchus Fielding, the Ninety-Ninth." She gestured to the living Victors, where a large, muscular man stood. "Ten years after that, Daisy Mae Withers. Soon after, in the One-Hundred Sixteenth, Isaiah Kranz. Crysta Rine gave birth during the One-Hundred Thirty-Seventh, and we hope her child is returned to her. And finally, after climbing over nine tributes to take the throne," Her face twisted at yet another ridiculous name, "Sour Reaper, the One-Hundred Forty-Sixth annual Hunger Games." A small cheer rose from the crowd, most having noticed the way the peacekeepers were brandishing their weapons.

"Now. We are gathered here today to talk about not your old Victors, but our new tributes and candidates for the crown. Dare I say it, may the odds be ever in your favor."

She quickly grabbed a paper from the girls' bowl, and I tensed. The girl last year had gone to my school, been in my class. She had died in the bloodbath, killed by the Victor herself. Jora opened the crisp paper slowly, and called a name.

"Willow Orchids! Come up here, sweetie, congratulations!"

I couldn't help it, I screamed. I screamed for Asher and Mint and Mira and Hans and I tried to run. I tried to run but the girls around me started whispering to me. They told me I should just go, that I didn't want to get into trouble with the Capitol. But these were my peers, my friends. Why did they want me to go die?

Finally, a girl slapped me and screamed, "Don't be stupid, Orchids, get up there!" I shook out of my panic and reluctantly obeyed.

* * *

Izabelle "Izzy" Ashburry, Age 41, Mother of Thorn Ashburry

* * *

"Oh that poor little girl!" someone exclaimed. We had all been watching the Reapings through the morning, and those without eligible children had stayed behind to get a little more money through extra work. It's truly amazing how little you get for finishing a quilt.

But I wasn't paying attention to my work. Most of the women had sat watching until Tulle and Henry were Reaped. I didn't bat an eye as Henry's older sister came running into the factory to the embrace of half the workers.

I was waiting for District Eleven.

The girl was small, a little less skinny that most Elevens, though it's hard to tell. Her eyes were wide and filled with terror. I sat forward as the escort in the black robes fluttered over to the boys' bowl, and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

Thorn Ashbury.

I couldn't bear to see my son make his way to the stage. I screamed and ran and suddenly I was in my filthy apartment, sobbing into a pillow. "Why?" I moaned, then louder, "Why? Why, why, WHY?!" I stood and started to throw things around the room. The oil lamp, shattered against the headboard. The old wooden stool, shattering the window and dropping to the streets below.

I destroyed just about everything in the room before curling into a ball and crying. Through my tears, I heard a sound in the distance. A whistle, a flurry of steps, the shouts of reporters. All of them calling out, "Tulle, your opening odds for the Games are thirty-two to one. Can you elaborate on that?" "Henry, do you think you can come home after fifty-five years of nothing but failure?"

I sat up, suddenly shaking my head. The idea had implanted itself into my brain and it wasn't going to leave any time soon. Jumping to my feet, I hurried to my closet and grabbed my suitcase that I had used so many years before. Normally, upon seeing it I would hold it and think of my family. Today, however, I was busy stuffing it with skirts, shirts, money, food, anything I would need.

Finally finished, I threw on a jacket with a large hood and marched out of my apartment complex without looking back.

The train station was just down the road, and reporters were still there to get as much info as possible on the tributes. Ignoring them, I strode to the back of the train to a maintenance hatch, and opened it slowly.

Wincing at the noise it made, I climbed inside. After making sure the coast was clear, I lifted the suitcase and held it under my arm. With one hand, I inched forward as quickly and quietly as I could.

Whenever I heard a noise of any kind, I'd stop and hold my breath with panic. After what felt like hours, I had made it to another hatch that read, _**Avox Quarters**_. Smiling to myself, I opened the hatch and peered inside.

There were very few of the mute servants in the room, but none of them seemed to care about who I was or why I had just come out of the hatch.

I may not have been able to save Thorn from the Games, but I was sue as heck going to see him one last time before he had to play them.

* * *

Willow Orchids, Age 13, District 11 Female

* * *

I was still wracking with sobs when the door opened. My eyes were blurry from the tears, so I only saw blurred shadows when I looked up. Wiping my tears with my whole hand, I looked again. The sight before me made me want to cry harder.

Mint's eyes were filled with angry tears, her expression making me cringe slightly. Mira's eyes were filled with rage, a rage that could probably destroy the nation. And Asher…

Asher was being held by Hans, balling uncontrollably. Hans looked like he wanted to give some as well, but was trying to be strong for my little brother. I stood and gave them both a hug, Asher's tears soaking my dress. I cried with him.

Another body, Mint, enveloped us, trying desperately to receive the last family hug that she'd ever possess. I had just felt her hand reach into my pocket when we heard the scream.

We all jumped, Asher clinging to me like a lifeline. I looked around wildly, until my eyes landed on Mira.

"This is so unfair!" She screamed again. She grabbed the bowl of fruit off the table and hefted it over her head. "This is so _stupid!_ " She through the bowl side-arm across the room. A banana hit me in the head. She flipped the table, too.

Mira continued on her rampage, her slim, sixteen-year-old body showing surprising strength as she threw chairs, a clock, ripped thick pillows, and chucked the blood red rug like one of those bladed discs they sometimes have in the Games. With each scream, each clatter, Asher hides his face farther behind me. Eventually, Hans is holding him again.

And then Mint is on her, trying to get her to stop thrashing. After only a moment, three peacekeepers threw open the door and marched in. Two of them stood on either side of the door and the third stepped forward, a box in his hand. He raised it and, without warning, the sound of electricity buzzed through the air and Mira was on the ground, twitching. The man then pulled out another one and shot Mint.

I gave a cry as they were dragged out, with Hans now full-on carrying Asher. I stood there in shock as I reached into my pocket, pulling out a bar of chocolate and a pair of bead earrings.

* * *

Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District 11 Male

* * *

Dad and Jessica had just finished their visit when the screams came echoing down the hall. They had left after telling me that they loved me, and that playing their Game was important. If I ever wanted to make it home alive, I'd have to kill anyone who crossed my path. Would I have had it in me though?

My door didn't open until after the screams had ceased. They didn't sound like Willow's cries, so I figured it must have been a relative or something. Once the door did open, I looked up at my two best friends.

"Well, this is a mess." Jayden Churmes said first.

Iliana Berrylise smacked him in the back of the head. "What did we talk about, you dipstick?" She cried, "Lines like that aren't helpful at all!" He grumbled at that, to which she hit him again. "Shut up."

I gave a good, long, real laugh, and they joined in. "You know, guys, there _is_ a chance I could make it out of this alive." I remarked, "You know, as long as I get past the fact that I'd be Eleven's youngest Victor, I could actually see it happening."

"You'd have to kill other people." Jayden warned.

"You'll be fine." Iliana grabs my hand, causing me to blush slightly. "Just get a good alliance and a weapon and you'll do great. Easier than peacekeepers, really. In fact-"

"Wait, what?" Jayden cries indignantly, "What about peacekeepers? Thorn, what did you _do?_ "

Iliana and I then told him the story of the peacekeeper I attacked when I was seven -really? Only seven? -and his eyes widened as we told him the tale. He gasped when I told him that I had been behind most of the peacekeeper attacks since then, and it was then that I was interrupted.

"And you didn't tell me all this why?" He asked grim-faced.

"Well, I don't know. Slipped my mind I gue-"

"Dude, that is so _COOL_! I wish I had the guts to do that!" He was grinning.

Iliana was smiling at me brightly, and I mustered up the courage that I had been looking for for months. "Iliana. I-"

"Just a second, Thorn. I want you to do me a favor, okay?"

"Um, yeah, sure. Anything. Shoot." I stammered.

"Help Willow in the Arena. I was standing next to her when she was called." She said quietly. "She was so scared. Please. Just help her a little bit, okay? If she has to die, try to make it quick." I could tell her heart was sinking as quick as mine was.

How could I have told her how I felt after she dropped a bomb like that? My courage dissipated and I tried hard not to slump. "Okay." I said.

Long after she was gone, her words rang in my ears.

 _Help Willow in the Arena._

 _Help Willow in the Arena._

 _Help Willow in the Arena._

* * *

Crysta Rine, Age 31, District 11 Female Mentor

137th Hunger Games Victor

* * *

They say nobody ever truly wins the Games. I could tell you that it wasn't true, that the Victor wins every time. That life is always great for them.

If I did, I'd have been lying.

On the third day of the Games, having escaped the bloodbath with absolutely nothing, I did the worst thing that anyone can do in the games. I went into labor. The Capitol hovercrafts picked me up, and I had to deliver my baby girl, Sunflower, among the corpses of seven dead children. After that, they sewed me up and plopped me back into the Arena.

At that point I was done. I wanted to see the child, to hold her, and so I ventured back to the Cornucopia. Two Careers were camped there, the girls from One and Four. They were messing around, drunk on danger and bloodlust, and didn't notice when I made the mad dash for the machete the girl from Four loved so much. Their heads bounced along the hard packed dirt.

Through the next few days, I killed three of the other Four Careers and three outer district children, including my district partner, to get to the crown. Once it was firmly on my head, I rested. I thought my life would be perfect.

But my little Sunflower was gone.

Nobody knew what happened, whether she was kidnapped or "misplaced." I've looked since my Victory Tour, but my baby hasn't returned.

I survived for her. I _need_ her back.

* * *

Orchus Fielding, Age 65, District 11 Male Mentor

99th Hunger Games Victor

* * *

I was waiting outside the train doors when the Quell's tributes got out of the car to board the train. They were talking, giggling quietly. Crysta was already on the train, trying to come up with a game plan. I had a feeling we were going to need more than anything she could cook up.

I greeted the children, the thirteenth and fourteenth Elevens to ever go into a Quell. I boarded behind them when I heard the boy, Thorn say something I seldom hear from my tributes.

"So, Willow. Wanna be allies?" He asked in a serious tone.

"Really?" Willow asked, sounding a little too surprised. She straightened her expression and added, "Well, of course, Mr. Ashburry. Now, would you like some tea?" Her voice had become deep, manly. Neither of them were paying attention to what was around them, and as I cleared my throat a voice rang across the room.

"Hello, children. Welcome aboard what I'm sure is your first ever train ride. Please, indulge yourselves." Crysta gestured to the table piled high with delicacies from around the nation. The tributes looked at each other.

"Biscuits, Ms. Orchids?" Thorn asked.

"Why, I thought you'd never ask." Willow pushed him and they made a dash to the table.

 _If this is what our team looks like, we're in trouble._ I thought to myself.

* * *

 **Eleven down, TWO to go!**

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know:**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 90**

 **dreams and desperation: 89**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 77**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 68**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 62**

 **jayman1919: 62**

 **We're All Okay: 56**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **caitiebug007: 53 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **The Rsce: 71**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **InfiniteDespair: 53**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Here are the submitters who have not reviewed (If I don't know you're reading, I may kill your tribute(s). Just saying) (and I like your tributes, so don't let them down now!):**

 **superepicstarkette1211**

 **If you are on none of these lists, you are probably a non-submitter, and I have not included your name because I haven't seen a review in a while. If you'd like to be on any of these lists, let me know. Remember everyone, your donations can save lives!**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Careers: Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Loners who will likely get alliances eventually:**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Infiniti (3)**

 **Jasper (4)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Devon (5)**

 **Aran (6)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7)**

 **Kenzi (7)**

 **Henry (8)**

 **Tulle (8)**

 **Thanatos (9)**

 **Harvest (9)**

 **Denny (10)**

 **Cheyenne (10)**

 **Questions!:**

 **Thoughts on our first outer-district Alliance?:**

 **Thoughts on Crysta?:**

 **Which D11 tribute did you like more?:**

 **Is there anything that you don't understand and would like me to clear up for you? (Note: If it will come up later in the story, like Blue's mother suddenly appearing, I won't clear that up yet):**

 **Catch the reference?:**

 **Happy Hunger Games,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	14. Coal Mines- District Twelve

**You didn't think I'd update so soon, did ya? Well, I'm back, with the tributes from the Coal Mining District. That's right, we're meeting Keola Foeba and Soot Maloy today, and we're sure to love them!**

 **Reviews!:**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: I'm glad you liked it, I was relieved to have my first outer-district alliance. Thanks for the review!**

 **The Rcse: Thanks for the review! Trust me, Crysta's life is only going to get harder. But I'm glad you liked her! I was excited when caitiebug007 told me she wanted to Sponsor her! Congratulations! You know, if you wanted to Sponsor her, well… you have the fourth-highest amount of Sponsor points. Or maybe Esmeralda and the rest of the Careers…**

 **dreams and desperation: Thanks, I'm glad you liked it!**

 **Just another reminder: When the Reapings are over, I will be changing the story's title to** _ **Into the Darkness: The 6**_ _ **th**_ _ **Quarter Quell.**_ **The current one is a bit of a mouthful.**

 **In TranscendentElvenRanger's** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my District One female tribute, Atalanta Bliss, is a confirmed survivor of Day 4, with 1 kill. Let's give her some support!**

 **I am not Suzanne Collins. I do not own the Hunger Games, or anything else I reference.**

 **I am writing this as I eat a Creamie. Be jealous.**

 **Thanks to** _ **superepicstarkette**_ **and** _ **ElvenRangerRysel**_ **for Keola and Soot!**

* * *

Keola Foeba, Age 13, District 12 Female

* * *

The dream was so realistic, it was as if it was happening again. I could see the big, bulky figures approach me, even though their faces, like the rest of the world, was a blur of blue and grey. One of the figures raised its arm, and I saw a fist fly toward what I could assume was a fist. Before it could hit me, a blur of brown came out of nowhere, and then red. So much red.

I sat up in my bed, screaming like I had all those years ago. When I was eight and the bullies wouldn't stop their teasing, and they had finally crossed the line. When a girl, my best friend since, had stood up and fought back when I couldn't.

I was still looking around in a panic when the door opened, and a figure much taller than me, yet only a little wider, ran into the room, calling, "Leila? Leila, honey, are you okay?" Her eyes zeroed in on me and she sighed in relief, gently lifting me into a hug. "Nightmares again, huh?" She asked. I only nodded.

Tristeza Foeba, at twenty-nine, was a very loving, caring mother. I was birthed to her prematurely when she was sixteen, causing small problems in me. I never blamed her for it, of course, but she still did everything she could to make it up to me.

"I'm okay, mom, really." I assured her after several minutes. She gave one last little squeeze, and departed with nothing more than a small nod.

My heart rate normal again, I surveyed my small room. In Twelve, we were coal miners, and you could definitely tell by the thin coat of black powder that covered everything. The walls, the floor, ceiling, doors, small window, wash basin, broken shard of glass that served as a mirror, my grey dress, originally white, everything.

I stood up, causing the dust on my arms and sheets to dance through the air like the light bombs the Capitol has on TV. I coughed as yet another whiff of coal flew down my throat, no doubt coating my already damaged lungs further. Moving slowly so as to allow the dust to settle, I made my way to the wash basin, a small, wooden bowl that had been a gift from my father to my mother. Staring into the clear liquid that been scooped up the night before, I cupped my hands and brought them to my face.

I stripped off my nightgown, which Mother had made me years ago, and attempted to wash myself as much as was possible, getting the coal off my olive skin. I was careful around my wide, grey eyes, as I didn't want what happened the previous year to happen _again_ , and finally stepped back, drying myself with the small, torn rag that hung on the edge of the bowl.

When I was sure I was dry, I looked at myself in the small, triangular piece of glass that really didn't help you see anything other than your face. I had to lift various parts of my body just to inspect it.

Having been born several weeks early, I was born small, and it had reflected on me since. I was four-foot-six, and weighed in at about sixty-five pounds on a good day. Not wanting everything on my body to be small, I had let my hair grow down to my waist, which, though extremely difficult to brush, helped me keep warm during the cold winters Twelve always seemed to get.

As I looked at my Reaping outfit, I gave a small chuckle. The grey dress, though tailored to reach just below the waist, was long enough to make it halfway below my shins. The black flats, once shiny and new, looked worn and lifeless. Only the silver ribbon, yet another gift, which I used to tie my hair into a (really) long ponytail, looked at least a little nice.

All dressed and ready for the event every child in Twelve dreads, I slowly exited my room, still wary of the black menace that was toxic to my immune system. In our small sitting room, just outside my door, sat two small wooden chairs, misshapen but still usable. In the one closest to me, my mother. In the one across from her, my best friend Stephanie Minor.

Upon seeing me, Stephanie stood, wrapping me in a hug. "Are you okay?" She asked. "Your mother came over and got me after you had stopped screaming. What happened?" Her expression was one of genuine concern, one that I had seen many times before.

"I'm fine." I answered, only lying a little, "Just a nightmare. The Reapings are today, after all. What did you expect?" She gave a relieved laugh, and I joined in, though it only turned to a wracking cough.

* * *

Soot Maloy, Age 13, District 12 Male

* * *

"Now, you be quiet, Tomas, or you'll scare away the mockingjay." I hushed my little brother as he complained for what must have been the hundredth time.

"Be nice to Tomas, Soot, he's only five!" Maddie scolded me. I had surprised myself by saying that. I was usually so quiet and caring.

Feeling I had to make up for it, I whispered back, "You're right, Maddie. Sorry, Tomas." I looked up to where the mockingjay had perched in the tree, but it had long since vanished. I sighed, wondering what it would be like to fly, cutting through the air and going wherever you wanted to go. Such a life was only meant for birds, I supposed.

"Soot Maddie and Tomas, get in here! We have to leave soon!" A voice called from behind us. "I need you three to get ready!" Me and my two younger siblings looked up at the small wooden house that housed the Maloy family. Our older sister, Sarai, was hanging out the window, waving a cloth like they do in those "Old Capitol" films that are referenced on TV from time to time, starring Kahn Lane and Flint Westwood.

The inside of the house was fancy for a home in Twelve, but it had been bought and paid for while my parents still had only two kids. It had a living area, complete with a bearskin rug (which was a feast for the family, mind you), four chairs and a small sofa, circled around the screen for mandatory viewing. With a whole three bedrooms, it was pretty nice.

Sarai met us at the door. "The Quell's today!" She said urgently, "Soot may be the only one eligible, but we'll all be clean and ready in ten minutes. Go!" We all scrambled to follow her orders. She was in charge, after all.

In the room that Tomas and I shared, we stripped and washed, helping each other with our backs. After messing around for a few minutes, we heard a loud knock on the door, and a scream. Laughing quietly, we found our Reaping clothes and practically threw them on. After helping Tomas button up his shirt, and fixing my tie, I quietly left our room and snuck past the girls' to our small bathroom before Sarai flipped a lid again.

In the bathroom was a sink, small tub, toilet and mirror. The mirror, scratched and streaked with dirt, was hard to see through but it was sufficient.

I looked myself over, making sure I was truly ready for the day. My brown eyes shined slightly, the same shade as my olive skin. My body, smaller than most, was really thin and my curly black hair and wide grin showed that the old threadbare blazer I was wearing was a bit old on me. Dark grey in color, the pants matched, and the black t-shirt underneath didn't help with the summer heat.

I jumped slightly at the banging on the door. "Soot, if you're in there, so help me, I'll wring your scrawny little-" She sighed mid-sentence, and continued, no longer yelling, "Soot, I'm sorry. I'm just really nervous about today is all. It was Garrett's final Reaping, and we were going to celebrate, but then the Quell was announced. And if you go in, I won't be able to help you because I'm fifteen and-" She started sobbing, and I heard her slump against the wall.

I smiled, opening the door. I pulled her into a hug. "It's okay, sis. There are a lot of eligible children, it won't be me. Everything'll be alright, alright?" I spoke softly and she nodded her head in understanding.

Bells tolled in the distance. "We'd better get going." I told her. "I'll get Tomas and Maddie. You clean yourself up." She laughed a held me closer, before letting go.

Standing up, I made my way to my room and was about to grab the handle when little Tomas opened it. "Is it time a go?" He asked loudly. I smiled and nodded, grabbing him and lifting him up. He cried out when I stumbled slightly. "Hey!" He threw his arms around my neck, holding me firmly. "Don't drop meeee!"

I laughed and put him down carefully. Grabbing his hand, I led him back to the girls' room to collect Maddie, when a hard knock came at the front door. Before I could protest, Tomas broke free of my grasp and ran to the door. "I get it!" He called behind him.

I rolled my eyes as I knocked on Maddie's door, letting her know we were about to leave. She groaned, and I could hear her dragging herself from her bed.

As I turned, I saw a flash of color and suddenly I was on the floor, a body on top of me. "Hey, Soot!" She called. "Ready to go, shortie?"

"Of course, Coalette." I groaned as she helped me to my feet. "You don't have to do that _every_ time, you know?"

"I know."

* * *

Keola Foeba, Age 13, District 12 Female

* * *

"Hello, hello, people of District Twelve! And how are we today?" The new escort asked, staring out at the blank faces. "Well, I am doing just fine, thank you! I am your new escort, Caleigh, erm, Indigo Pearl! As the newest of the escorts, I'm sure you will all make me feel right at home. Oh, but I almost forgot! We have a video for your enjoyment, courtesy of the Capitol!" She gestured to the large screen above her, and it came to life.

Because District Twelve was the home of the Mockingjay Katniss Everdeen, Twelve's video was a little more… threatening than most of the other Districts'. The President narrated the whole thing, taking note of everything that the "stupid, clueless girl" did wrong in an attempt to rip the nation apart. It showed her killing her ally from Eleven (which I've been told she didn't really do), and how the creatures of fire ripped her apart, limb from limb, one of her arms hanging from a nearby tree before her cannon sounded.

It was all a threat, we knew. One that told us to steer clear of rebellion, for there were "far worse Games that could be played."

The video showed the final placings of the Third Quell, where Katniss and Peeta stood in ninth and fifth. It showed the final showdown between Gloss and Johanna, and then went dark.

"Well, then. That was interesting, wasn't it? As much as I'd love to watch it again, I feel we need to recognize your previous Victors. Are you ready?" Instead of waiting for an answer, she pulled out a card and read:

"The Tenth Hunger Games, Kyler Ashworth. The Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games and First Quarter Quell, Susan James! The Fiftieth Hunger Games and Second Quarter Quell, Haymitch Abernathy! The Seventy-Fourth Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. Dead sixteen years, Rory Hawthorne of the Seventy-Seventh Games! Slatia Mist, the Eighty-Second Hunger Games!" She gestured to her left, where the living Victors sat.

"From the Eighty-Ninth Hunger Games, Thalia Wildes!" An old woman with dark skin and grey hair waved from where she sat. "The first of four in a single decade, Delia Quail, the Hundred-Eleventh! From the Hundred-Fourteenth, Tolla Rutai!" Both women in their fifties, plastered smiles on their faces and waved to the cameras. "The first to complete a back-to-back Victory for Twelve, Vesta Charr, the Hundred-Fifteenth!" Vesta didn't wave, she just stared at the crowd blankly.

"The Victor who closed the Decade of the Twelves, at the age of only thirteen, Blossom Kilo, who, sadly, passed away last year." Blossom's oldest daughter was in the Hundred Forty-Ninth, and Blossom died of a drug overdose on the ride home from the Capitol. "And finally, the only living male Victor from District Twelve, Coal Black, from the One-Hundred and Forty-Third Hunger Games!" A young man stood at his name, his eyes dark, his skin slightly yellow.

"Ahhah, yes, the moment we've all been waiting for! Today, we find out who will receive the honor of representing District Twelve in the Sixth Quarter Quell! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

* * *

Soot Maloy, Age 13, District 12 Male

* * *

The crowd went quiet as Indigo made her way to the girls' bowl, the paper audible crinkling as she swirled her hand through the slips. After a brief moment, she grabbed one out of the bowl and carried it to the stand. Carefully breaking the seal, she read it out loud.

"Stephanie Minor!" She called.

A small cry pierced the air from the thirteens' section, and a girl made her way slowly to the stage. She was trying to keep a brave face, but she was close to falling apart. She was nearly to the stage when a voice called out, "I volunteer!"

The entire crowd reeled in shock as a girl, smaller than I and looking sickly, made her way through the crowd and into the aisle. The girl who had originally been chosen, Stephanie, stared at her in horror, and screamed at the escort, "No! She can't volunteer! I volunteer for her! Please!"

"I'm sorry, my dear, but your eligibility ended when this young girl called out the words. Come up here dear, please, we'd all like to hear from you." The girl nodded, and made her way up to the stage. She walked as if anyone might lash out at her, and the escort was obviously growing impatient. When the girl finally mounted the stage, her really long hair moving slightly in an unseen breeze, Indigo huffed.

"Finally! Now, sweetie, what's your name?"

"Keola Foeba." She answered hesitantly.

"Hello, Keola, it's nice to meet you!" She gushed. "Now, you just stand right here while I select who will be your District Partner." She brushed imaginary dust off her suit and strode over to the boys' bowl, emptier than usual because of the smaller candidate pool.

Indigo took the same amount of time she had previously, plucking a paper from an unknown location in the glass bowl. She pulled it out took a deep breath, and turned. Staring at the podium, her heart no doubt racing, she strode forward, wavering slightly. She held the paper in front of the mic, and broke the seal.

"Soot Maloy!"

I could feel myself growing paler. My ears were ringing, and I could vaguely hear shouting around me. Slowly, I made my way into the aisle, everything around me a blur. I refused to cry, and after what seemed like eternity, I was on the stage, being beckoned over to Indigo.

Indigo said something, but I didn't hear. I felt more than frightened, and helpless. So helpless. I imagined how I must have looked to the district, scared the way a baby bird is as he's pushed out of the nest for the first time.

It took me a moment to register the slight pressure in my palm, and I realized I was shaking hands with Keola, who like me, was being led to the slaughter.

My hearing returned, just as Indigo was wishing everyone a "Happy Hunger Games!" Moments later, she was shoving me into the room where I'd have to say goodbye to my family, possibly forever.

* * *

Keola Foeba, Age 13, District 12 Female

* * *

My mother burst into the room in a panic, like she always did. She ran over to where I sat, sobbing into my shoulder. I patted her back gently, which seemed to take her out of her sorrow. She looked up at me and asked, "Why would you do this? Is it because of me? What did I ever do wrong? I've tried my hardest to help you, to keep you safe. I've given you everything you never wanted. Where did I go wrong?" She curled into a ball on the floor, sobbing harder.

I had to choke back a small laugh. Normally, the parents would be consoling the children, telling them they could make it home, that they'd be okay. The roles had been reversed for me, though, and I had to her job for her.

I kneeled down on the ground next to her, resting my head on her shoulder. "Mom." I said, "It's not your fault. I couldn't let Steph go into the Games knowing full well what she did for me. You didn't do anything wrong. Indigo did." I lifted my head, and wiped the tears from her eyes. She took a deep breath.

"You're right, sweetie. I suppose I'm supposed to give you ideas for the Games, huh? Well, now, let me think…" She tapped her chin in thought. "Don't grab much at the Cornucopia. Twelve's never last long in the Bloodbath. Grab a pack and run. And allies. Most every Victor ever had at least one ally. Find as many as you can and you should be-"

"Time's up!" A peacekeeper threw the door open, and grabbed my mother from where she sat. He took her outside, kicking and screaming the whole way. I sat in silence only a minute.

The door opened again to reveal Stephanie, her eyes puffy but no tears in her eyes. She looked at me, still kneeling on the floor, and said, "you didn't have to do that, you know."

I shook my head as she walked over, sitting where my mother had moments before. "You needed me. Just like I needed you, all those years ago." I flinched slightly as she reached into my hair, untying the ribbon she had given me. She pinned something onto it.

I looked at the charm, bright green and shaped like a snowflake, and I smiled. "You remembered, huh?" She smiled back as she tied the ribbon back into my hair.

"Of course. I will send you into the Arena with the reason we ever became friends. Something to remember me by."

* * *

Soot Maloy, Age 13, District 12 Male

* * *

"I'm so sorry Mom and Dad couldn't make it." Garrett apologized again. "They're still working the extra hours they need to get the money to care for you four. Well, three now." Sarai punched him in the arm, but said nothing, probably afraid of breaking into hysterics again.

"What?" He asked defensively. "Until he makes it home, it will be you three. After that, he'll be supporting _them_."

Tomas smiled at that. "And we could have a _BIIIG_ house, right Soot? And we could have treats? And steak? And hangurbers?"

I laughed slightly. "Of course, Tomas. All the treats you ever want. I promise."

The door opened, and the last I saw of my family was little Tomas and Maddie waving goodbye for what I hoped wasn't the last time. Before it closed, however, a slight figure darted in, and I had to fight the urge to jump out of the way before she tackled me.

"Oh, Soot, I'm so sorry!" Coalette cried, throwing her arms around me. "I can't believe this happened to you. I mean, of all people, _you!_ Why? I don't understand! You haven't done anything wrong! Never once, it's so-"

"It's so what?" I asked gently. "Unfair? Cruel? I'm not the only one who's ever been invited to the Games, Coalette. Two-hundred ninety-eight children from Twelve have been given to the Games, and two of them went back in. Anybody can enter that Arena, Coalette, you know that. However, you should also be aware that anyone can come out alive. That's the only hope one has in the Games."

She looked at me strangely, cocking her head slightly. "Did I just hear that from you, Soot? Don't tell me the Games have already changed you." She laughed quietly, and I did too. She looked at me with pride and hope and then rummaged through her pockets, as if remembering something.

"Here, I almost forgot." She said, "I wanted to give you this. It's not much, but I wanted to give it to you after the Reapings today. Not like this, but… You know what I mean." She leaned forward, pressing something smooth and cold into my palm. After she removed her hands, I looked at it.

It was a simple stone, grey in color with small specks of white and black. It was smooth and even polished, reflecting the light from the overhead lamps.

That's not what was beautiful about it, though. Carefully carved into the rock were words so simple, yet they were words that were sure to help me get through the Games.

* * *

Slatia Mist, Age 85 (17), District 12 Female Mentor

82nd Hunger Games Victor

* * *

As I woke up from hibernation, _again_ , I couldn't help but notice the screaming, like each of the five kills I made over the course of the Eighty-Second Hunger Games. Opening my eyes, I sat up and looked around. To my immediate left was another bed, _Austin Bean_ written across the headboard. The rest of the beds had the sheets in a crumpled mess at the end, meaning the occupants were awake.

I closed my eyes and groaned as I realized what that meant.

Looking over at where the screaming was coming from, I gave another moan. A man I recognized as Velvet Furse was slumped against the wall, near the door. His eyes were closed, and his leg was at an odd angle. Right in front of him was Cecelia Furse from Eight, and Kinzie Wrasse from Four. Cecelia had her arm around Kinzie's neck, holding firm even as Kinzie clawed and bit, drawing blood.

I heard a cry and a crack as little Harvest Summer from Nine flipped twenty-nine-year-old Gloss Xerces over her leg. He didn't move.

Suddenly the opaque glass door slid open, and Capitol nurses with batons flooded into the room. One of them shouted at the Victors, but they didn't listen. She shouted at her companions, and they all flicked their wrists, covering the batons in blue, sparking electricity.

* * *

Coal Black, Age 22, District 12 Male Mentor

143rd Hunger Games Victor

* * *

 _Another year, another loss_. I thought as I waited aboard the train that would take me and the tributes to the Capitol, where I'd hunt for Sponsors and alliances for them, and no matter what I did, they would die, like Twelves always did.

Oh, sure, Twelves had won numerous times, on twelve different occasions in fact. But after mentoring six years and watching twelve kids die, I had pretty much lost hope.

 _Hope has no place in the Games_. I thought miserably. The boy was too nice, the girl too weak. Both tributes would probably die in the Bloodbath, I knew, as Twelves did every year.

Sighing, I stumbled to the dining car, where I would hopefully find more bourbon to fill my flask. I had been attempting, again, to get the faces of my victims out of my head, to no avail, of course.

There were only two, but their deaths were more brutal than I had ever seen before. None of the weapons in the Cornucopia that years were sharp, consisting mainly of wooden bats and bricks, so most tributes fled into the thick forest surrounding the Arena. I did not.

Somehow, I made it into and out of the bloodbath with a metal staff, and I survived for eleven days. On day eight, the Careers fractured, stressed from finding no other tributes.

The boys from Six and Thirteen. Both twelve. Killed by the boy from Twelve.

* * *

 **HOLY CRAP THERE'S ONLY ONE MORE REAPING LIKE OH M GOODNESS!**

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know: (Remember. You can change who it is up until the Private Sessions)**

 **dreams and desperation: 92**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 90**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 77**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 68**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 62**

 **jayman1919: 62**

 **We're All Okay: 56**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **caitiebug007: 53 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **The Rcse: 74**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **InfiniteDespair: 53**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Here are the submitters who have not reviewed (If I don't know you're reading, I may kill your tribute(s). Just saying) (and I like your tributes, so don't let them down now!):**

 **superepicstarkette1211**

 **If you are on none of these lists, you are probably a non-submitter, and I have not included your name because I haven't seen a review in a while. If you'd like to be on any of these lists, let me know. Remember everyone, your donations can save lives!**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Careers: Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Loners who will likely get alliances eventually:**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Infiniti (3)**

 **Jasper (4)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Devon (5)**

 **Aran (6)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7)**

 **Kenzi (7)**

 **Henry (8)**

 **Tulle (8)**

 **Thanatos (9)**

 **Harvest (9)**

 **Denny (10)**

 **Cheyenne (10)**

 **Soot (12)**

 **Keola (12)**

 **Questions!:**

 **Catch the references?:**

 **Thoughts on Coal's mindset?:**

 **Are you proud of me?:**

 **Any predictions for Thirteen?:**

 **With a little luck, I'll see you tomorrow,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	15. Graphite Tunnels- District Thirteen

**And here we are, ready to meet this year's tributes from Thirteen! I am so glad it's over with, and I'm sure you are too!**

 **Reviews!:**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: I'm glad you liked Keola, I liked her more and more as I wrote for her. Congrats on finding one of the references, 8 points!**

 **jayman1919: Hey Jay, good to hear from you! I'm gladyou liked the chapter, here's another. Note: Contrary to what it seems, I didn't think you were drunk/high.**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: Congratulations on finding one of the reference, that's 8 points! I was kinda trying to play up the uncaring & drunk Twelve mentor thing. It's almost tradition now ****. Hope you enjoy Thirteen!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: Answering your question from chapter thirteen, the list is up on my profile. I moved it so I won't have to re-submit the chapter whenever someone dies** **. Spot-on prediction!**

 **Just another reminder: IN 24 HOURS, I will be changing the story's title to** _ **Into the Darkness: The 6**_ _ **th**_ _ **Quarter Quell.**_ **It sounds better than the current one.**

 **In TranscendentElvenRanger's** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my District One female tribute, Atalanta Bliss, is a confirmed survivor of Day 4, with 1 kill. Let's rally behind her and get her to the crown! She's made the Top 15!**

 **I am not Suzanne Collins. I do not own the Hunger Games, or anything else I reference.**

 **I have put up a poll for the train tributes! I will select the top three in either of the groups below and one I want to hear from personally. (Totaling seven)**

 **GROUP ONE:**

 **Marcus Caelum**

 **Malaya Garnet**

 **Mason Lepodolite**

 **Cassia Maurise**

 **Cordin Bolt**

 **Infiniti Reagan**

 **Jasper Blue**

 **Esmeralda Dawn**

 **Darius Line**

 **Devon Rose**

 **Aran Quade**

 **Jetta Carter**

 **Logan Woodson**

 **GROUP TWO:**

 **Kenzi Williams**

 **Henry Reynoso**

 **Tulle Salane**

 **Thanatos Rize**

 **Harvest Miller**

 **Denny Rico**

 **Cheyenne Bruno**

 **Thorn Ashburry**

 **Willow Orchids**

 **Soot Maloy**

 **Keola Foeba**

 **Sparky Montgomery**

 **Rebelle Rine**

 **Thanks to** _ **Jotunheim Storm**_ **and** _ **Rina-The-Fangirl**_ **for Rebelle and Sparky!**

* * *

Rebelle Sunflower Rine, Age 13, District 13 Female

* * *

"Focus, Rebelle! You can't win the crown if you keep throwing like that! Wider stance! Arm farther back! Now, follow the throw!" Freedom, sorry, _Mother_ , scolded me _again_. I wasn't trying to do well, of course, but she was convinced that I had to do it perfect every time. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed another weapon and prepared to throw it, not quite raising my arm like I was supposed to. I reared back, pulled forward and released the projectile, which sliced through the air toward the training dummy.

Freedom sighed in frustration as the trident buried itself in the floor next to its sisters. "Rebelle." She said sternly, "If you are going to do this today, you need to focus! Nobody wins the Games half-heartedly! You need to remember that when you volunteer today. Now, go get ready!"

I rolled my eyes again as I marched into the locker room, adjacent from the training gymnasium she had constructed deep in the quarries, for my use up until I volunteered.

My life had always been surrounded by the Games. After all, I was the youngest tribute in them. If I told people, they wouldn't believe me. In fact, I wouldn't either, but it's true. My mother, Crysta Rine, was heavily pregnant with me when she was Reaped for the One-Hundred Thirty-Seventh Hunger Games. As she went into labor, a hovercraft lifted her out of the Arena for a few hours. After my birth, she was plopped back into the Arena to climb over the bodies of eight children. Just to get back to me.

She never had the chance, of course. My adopted father, Draco Dunedin, stole me away from the Capitol, and took me to Thirteen, for reasons he never shared with me.

Since then, Draco married, and my adopted "mother," Freedom, trained me to compete in the Games. It had become tiresome, and I often grew bored, even though it was more than anyone could do in Thirteen.

In the locker room there was a single row of lockers, all mine as I was the only one who ever used them. Most days I ignored it, preferring to change my clothes back in my block, but Reaping day was different. I needed to get as much training in as possible before entering the Arena.

Hanging on a hook that jutted out of the stone walls was the Reaping outfit Freedom had bought for me, wanting me to look my best for my big day. The black dress was obviously expensive, reaching the wearer's mid-thigh and boasting a long, elegant train. On the ground below it rested a pair of red high heels, a red rose resting in one, a beautiful, golden chain necklace hanging out of the other. I changed out of my grey work uniform and into the dress.

The dark gown showed off my ivory skin, which shimmered in the faint light of the caves. My forest green eyes shined, my strawberry blonde hair, like my mother's, was short, with the rose tucked behind my ear. The ends of each strand were curled, and highlighted pink. The scar from my first sword practice ran from beneath my right eye and cut straight to my jawline, curving like a fishhook.

"Come on, Rebelle! It's time to get going!" I heard from outside the locker room door.

"Coming, Freedom, hold on a second!" I shouted in anger. Slipping the necklace on, I lifted the train and left the empty gym.

After an hour and a half, I had made it to the steel catwalks that surrounded the underground District. I was looking for Block 27.84 H, where my adopted family had called home since they had first moved in. It didn't take long, though, as it wasn't very far from the mines. Opening the hatch-like door, I stepped inside.

Small hands gripped me around the waist, and I looked down into Centra's grinning face. At just over six, she was just another small, carefree girl. I smiled.

"I missed you, Rebby!" She informed me, "Where were you today? We have to be to ssembly soon. I love your dress!" She talked a mile a minute, until my father walked in. Suddenly losing interest in me, she ran to him, wrapping herself around his leg.

"G'morning, Daddy." I nodded my head as he looked me over. "How've you been today? Sorry it took me so long to get back, it is _not_ easy to run through the mines in heels."

Draco Dunedin only laughed. He did that a lot. "Oh I figured. Seems to me nothing will keep you from that stage, let alone a mine. You seem pretty determined." He was right, I was more than ready. The Capitol crossed too many lines over the years, and through my Victory I planned to set them straight. "You ready to see your mother, sweetheart?" His face scrunched itself into an expression of sorrow, like it did every time it did when he talked about Crysta. Before I could call him out on it, a knock came from the door.

He looked into my eyes, his worries evident. "That must be Queenie." He said. "You'd better get going."

* * *

Sparky Montgomery, Age 13, District 13 Male

* * *

"Little boy a little crazy?" The boys kept taunting me as I walked. "Gonna go into the Games and rip them apart? Come on, crazy, say something!" One of them shoved me when I stopped, straight into the door to the apartment my mother and I shared.

"Leave me ALONE, you eejits! Or I'll tear your eyes out!" I screamed. The boys, all around sixteen, looked around in confusion. I lunged at the nearest one, scratching and biting.

"Help! HELP ME!" The boy beneath me cried out in pain. I heard footsteps from down the corridor, and I knew I had to leave. I couldn't, though, or I'd be in more trouble.

Pain arced through my back and I screamed in frustration. A gloved hand reached around me, lifting me off the bloody, unconscious body. I kicked and thrashed, discretely looking around to see if the other boys were there. They weren't.

"My home!" I screamed again. "I won't let you get in, you lousy robbers! Put me down so I can KILL YOU!" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the peacekeepers nod his head in understanding. He opened the door to my apartment, and the big man restraining me threw me in. As he closed the door, I caught one of his buddies cuffing the boy who taunted me, right where he lay on the floor.

I heard footsteps, and a dragging sound outside the door. Once they had receded, I laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

"That'll teach you to call me crazy!" I called to the door in between fits of giggles. "Gets you in trouble, stupid!" I laughed maniacally, crossing the room to where the lone table dominated. I picked up the only object resting upon its surface, and held it to my face.

"We're not crazy, right Rocky?" I asked it. The stone, which I had snuck out of the graphite mines years earlier, didn't answer. I could feel a look of hurt weaving its way into my expression. "What did I ever do to you? You're worse than they are!" I threw him across the room, and I heard the _CLANK_ of stone against metal, and another a moment later.

I jumped slightly as a wail, very unlike my own, ripped through the metal walls that made up the small living area we had been assigned to. I sighed, opening one of the doors that led to a bedroom. Inside, on a bed, one of two pieces of furniture in the room, a woman sat curled up in a ball, rocking herself back and forth.

Mother was having another fit, I knew. Meaning I could stop pretending. I walked over to the nightstand next to the bed slowly, reaching the bowl of broth that always seemed to calm her. Carefully sitting down on the bed, I rubbed her back with one hand and held the bowl aloft with the other.

"Go away!" She cried pleadingly, "I don't need you anymore Layne! I can take care of myself!"

I shook my head and sighed, deciding to try again. "Mother, it's me, Sparky. You know, your son? Mother? Kathy?" But it was no use. She had absolutely no idea who I was anymore. I had accepted that years ago, and it had only gotten worse. "Look, Mom. I need to go get ready, okay? The Reapings are today and I have to go. It's okay if you want to stay here, though." She didn't answer, and I realized she had fallen asleep. I shrugged my shoulders and left the room, stepping into my own.

The room was small, like every other in Thirteen. With no windows, a single bed and nightstand, and an adjoining bathroom, we had minimal space for "taking creative liberties." Which, of course, was why we had our schedules printed on our arms every day. Mine read:

 **Sparky Montgomery**

 **Block 82.46 E**

 **0800 Breakfast in Mess Hall**

 **0900-1200 Quiet Time**

 **1200 Reaping**

 **1230 Lunch in Mess Hall**

 **1330-1700 Quiet Time**

 **1700 Dinner in Mess Hall**

 **1800-2100 Quiet Time**

 **2100 Lights Out**

Overall, it was pretty much a day off, like it was for every child eligible on Reaping day.

I looked at the digital clock on the wall, which read _**11:48**_. Groaning, I looked down at myself. My tattered jeans had been completely ripped off mid-shin, my white t-shirt filthy and stretched. As my mom was off-the-rails-crazy, she couldn't work in the mines. Seeing as how I was only twelve, I couldn't do anything either, making new clothes an unheard of luxury.

Letting a breath of air escape my mouth noisily, I dragged my feet to the small bathroom to make myself presentable. Messy brown hair. Blue eyes. Skin pale like every other citizen of Thirteen. Average everywhere except for my eyesight, which required I use glasses. Gathering my courage, I plastered a smile to my face and left the apartment, screaming, "OH, YEAH, BABY! LET'S DO THIS! All the way to the assembly hall.

* * *

Rebelle Sunflower Rine, Age 13, District 13 Female

* * *

The new escort for Thirteen went by the name of Tobias Trinket, and he had been the escort for Twelve since his first year, the One-Hundred Thirty-Sixth. He was happy to "try something new" and learn our "District ways." I hated him and that was that.

"So, I shall start today by reading off the Victors from Thirteen." He took a deep breath and waved his hand, encouraging Soldier to stand next to him. He threw one arm around his shoulder, holding him close. "District Thirteen, your first and only Victor is Soldier Renslaw. He bested the desert Arena of the One-Hundred Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games and the Fifth Quarter Quell." He turned to the Victor, who looked like he wanted to strangle him. "Soldier, you beat the odds and emerged victorious, after stumbling over the corpses of nine other tributes, four of them being your District partners. How did that moment of Victory feel?" He held the mic to Soldier, who looked away, mumbling something. Tobias looked crestfallen, but quickly recovered and looked to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, Soldier Renslaw!"

We all cheered enthusiastically, as was expected of us. We didn't want another crackdown, it could have killed us. Tobias waited for the crowd to quiet down, and then he gestured to the screens mounted around the assembly hall. "A wonderful video for the Games!" He cried.

The President, narrating the video, explained to the citizens of Thirteen why exactly the Games were in place, why they were so important. How keeping the nation at peace was of higher priority, and a handful of lives a year was a small price to pay. I could feel the hatred filling the room in waves.

The video closed with the President's face, the seal of Panem behind him, reminding us that we were only part of the Games because of our attempted rebellion during the Third Quell, and that we should be grateful for the nation's hospitality.

"Wasn't that wonderful?" Tobias asked. The District was silent. "Well, then. I suppose it's time for me to Reap my first tributes from District Thirteen! As tradition demands, ladies first."

 _This is it, Rebelle_. I thought as I dropped the train behind me. _What you've been training for for years. Wait a moment, then go._ I took a deep breath, and looked up.

"Maia Goldenburg!"

A cry broke the air from the twelve's section in front of me, a high pitched wail from behind. A little girl, blond with snot and tears running down her face, was ushered to the stage by her peers. Tobias looked more than a little disappointed, and asked for volunteers. _Just a little longer._

"Well, then. I suppose there aren't any volunteers, as usual. Now for the boys!"

 _Now!_ "Wait!" I shouted, raising my hand high. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute! I will represent my home in the Games!" Tobias and Maia's eyes grew wider and wider as I made my way down the aisle. Maia shook herself from her trance, vaulting the rail and rushing past me. I kept walking steadily.

* * *

Sparky Montgomery, Age 13, District 13 Male

* * *

It made me sick, all of it. Tobias' overwhelming joy, the smug look on the girl's face, everything. She had obviously planned it, too. What with her pretty dress and calm attitude, she didn't care about little Maia!

"What's your name, darling?" Tobias asked her.

"Rebelle Rine, Tobias. Originally, of course, I was known as Sunflower." She looked into the camera, "That's right, Crysta, it's me. I'm coming for a visit. I can't wait to see you again." What her eyes really said was, _I am so going to win this. They'll love me for it._

"Oh my." Tobias was fanning himself with his hand, "I have found the lost baby. _Me. I did_!" He pinched himself on the arm, probably winning a laugh from Capitol viewers. "More time for that later. We need to find out who Sunflower's District Partner is!" He skipped over to the boys' bowl, and I could hear him whispering to himself from the front row. He selected a slip fairly quickly and practically ran to the microphone.

Nearly ripping the paper in two, he called out, "Sparky Montgomery!"

I froze in a panic. It was my first year! I was supposed to be okay! Then I looked at the faces around me, slowly zoning in on mine one by one. Then I remembered the teasing, the screams.

"It's about FLIPPING TIME!" I roared with laughter. "I WILL DOMINATE YOU ALL! KAWAFREAKINGBUNGA!" I laughed and screamed like I had taught myself to for years. When I had mounted the stage, Rebelle and Tobias shrunk away from me.

I looked at them quizzically, and made my way to the stand. "I GUESS HE'S NOT GONNA INTRODUCE ME, PEOPLES! CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS FAT COCONUT?" The crowd roared with laughter, laughter at me, at Tobias, at the Capitol.

Carefully, as if I held some mad disease, Tobias grabbed my hand, holding it high above my head with Rebelle's. "District Thirteen, your tributes in this year's Hunger Games, Rebelle Rine and Sparky Montgomery!" He quieted his voice down, and spoke to both of us. "Come on, tributes, shake hands."

We complied, and were led into the Justice Building. I glanced at Rebelle's train, an idea forming in my head. "SWEET SURFBOARD, DUDE!"

The ride was nice, but, even without the waves, I wiped out several times.

* * *

Rebelle Sunflower Rine, Age 13, District 13 Female

* * *

I waved fondly at Queenie and Centra as they were led out. Freedom was the first to visit, telling me how proud of me she was and how excited she was to see the reunion with my real mother. Queenie brought in Centra, who was crying her eyes out. Queenie scolded me as I held Centra, asking me how long I had planned to Volunteer (six years), when I planned on telling her (now was as good a time as any), and how come I didn't tell her my mother was a Victor (you wouldn't have believed me, I insisted, to which she reluctantly agreed).

After the door closed, I could still hear Centra crying, already mourning her sister, who was called up like all those kids who were dismembered on television. A few minutes after the cries had dissipated, the door opened again.

I stood up and ran to greet my father, who returned my hug in desperation. It was short-lived, though, as he pushed away, resting his hand on my shoulder.

"Rebelle, there is something I have to tell you. Something I should have told you long ago, something about your mother. About me." I nodded, motioning him to get on with it. He took a deep breath.

"Rebelle, only a couple months after your mother got pregnant, your father died of a deadly flu virus. Soon after that, she met another man, one who loved her and whose love she truly returned. He was going to propose to her, after they had both survived their final Reaping, but it wasn't to be, for she was called.

"The man worked furiously, doing everything in his power to help her get home, to hasten the Games before she, and her child, perished." I looked at him curiously, having never heard that side of the story before. "That man." He said, "Realized that the child had been born, had realized that, should Crysta Rine not survive past the next few days, the child would be given to some Capitol wench, maybe even given into slavery. His anger flourished, and he decided to take action."

He looked at me, taking note of the silent tears escaping my eyes. "Rebelle, I rescued you from the clutches of the Capitol. I stole you the night before her Victory. I ran from everything I knew, to start a new life in Thirteen, because I was afraid I had lost the love of my life. I couldn't lose you too."

He took a deep breath, calming his own emotions. He pressed something into my palm. "Say hello to her." He whispered, "For me, please."

* * *

Sparky Montgomery, Age 13, District 13 Male

* * *

The waiting was horrible. Like, had you asked me to sit in a small, fancy room for an hour and expect me to _wait_ for my mother, who probably didn't even know I was leaving forever, I would have slapped your face. Like I almost slapped Tobias'.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I stood up from the lone chair and marched toward the door. I opened it, sticking my head out abruptly. The two peacekeepers, both maskless, stared at me in confusion.

"Can I come out of time out now?" I asked, "I want to check out the train." I pointed to the back of the building, where the metal doors to the Tribute Train sat open, imposing.

The man on my left looked to the man on my right. "Um, I'm not sure that that's a good idea-"

"I WANT TO SEE THE FRIGGIN TRAIN! I'M DONE HIDING IN THIS TURTLE SHELL! LET ME OUT!" I screamed.

Both the peacekeepers fumbled for their weapons, when a voice behind them stopped them. "Let me take care of this." From the shadows emerged a figure, one that every person in the District knew by sight.

"Bonjour, El Capitan." I greeted the District's only Victor.

"Hello, young one." He replied, resting his hand between my shoulder blades. He gently pushed me in the direction of the train. "Did I hear you wanted to hop on board the train? Well, guess what? Since you're with me, you can have a free pass."

"Really? Oh, that would be great, sir! Thanks!" I created the goofiest grin I could muster.

* * *

Soldier Renslaw, Age 43, District 13 Mentor

125th Hunger Games Victor

* * *

I chuckled to myself as the little insane boy started stuffing his face with food found anywhere but Thirteen. I smiled when he moaned at each new taste, each new flavor he had been unable to imagine recently.

It reminded me of myself, of course. During my Games, I ate everything I could, sure I was going to die early on in the Games. Amazingly, I didn't.

You see, I was in the Fifth Quarter Quell, a truly dark time for District Thirteen. Each of the first twelve Districts sent in two tributes, one male and one female. Thirteen, on the other hand, had it much worse.

"To remind the citizens of Panem that the Capitol gives everybody an equal chance at life, the District with the least number of Victors shall supply tributes, twelve female and twelve male, for the Games. To even the playing field for the rest of the Districts, only one of each gender from this District shall be in the Arena at any one time."

I was the tenth male tribute from District Thirteen. When the ninth tribute, one of my close friends, died, they quickly picked him up, giving me his remaining supplies and waiting for the girl who killed him to leave. Once she had left the vicinity, I was in the Arena.

Over the course of the next few days, I had killed the girls from One, Four and Twelve, and the boys from Six and Eleven. I had allied with the girl from my District, the sixth of the girls, and on the nineteenth day trumpets sounded over the sandy desert.

The girl, Elena, and I looked at each other. A noise came from above, and all I saw was black. When I woke up, I was in one of the launch rooms, the one that I assumed was my own. My stylist was there, wishing me luck and throwing me into my tube. I was raised into the Arena for the second time.

On the other pedestals were the remaining tributes for Thirteen. Seven girls, three boys, and no weapons or packs supplied to us. The Cornucopia was filled with weapons, and no packs. Stone walls rose around us, forming a much smaller fighting space than Elena and I were used to.

The gong rang, and those desperate enough to fight ran for the weapons, and another bloodbath ensued. I grabbed a sword, beheading the girl who was called up right before me, the tenth one who I had consoled as we waited for the nines to die out. The remaining boys both charged me at once, and the battle lasted a gruesome twenty-four minutes. When they finally fell to the sand, their blood leaking out of them, I collapsed, thinking it was finally over.

The seventh girl, the twelve-year-old who cried during the whole Games, was still curled in a ball on her pedestal. I crawled into the Cornucopia and grabbed a crossbow.

* * *

 **AND IT'S FINALLY OVER!**

 **I've finished the Reapings, yay! Now I just need to write the tributes who we'll be seeing on the trains, and we can start the Pre-Games! Remember to go check out that poll.**

 ***Side note, I'm going camping this week and won't be back until Sunday. I'll hopefully write but I'm unsure whether I'll be able to see the poll or not. In other words, the trains may not be up until next Tuesday or something.**

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know: (Remember. You can change who it is up until the Private Sessions)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 101**

 **dreams and desperation: 92**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 83**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 70**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 68**

 **jayman1919: 65**

 **We're All Okay: 56**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **caitiebug007: 53 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **roses burning: 74**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **InfiniteDespair: 53**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Here are the submitters who have not reviewed (If I don't know you're reading, superepicstarkette1211, I may kill Keola earlier than you'd like. Just saying) (and I like her, so don't let her down now!):**

 **superepicstarkette1211**

 **If you are on none of these lists, you are probably a non-submitter, and I have not included your name because I haven't seen a review in a while. If you'd like to be on any of these lists, let me know. Remember everyone, your donations can save lives!**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Careers: Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Loners who will likely get alliances eventually:**

 **Cordin (3) (unspecified)**

 **Infiniti (3) (unspecified)**

 **Jasper (4) (maybe 1 person, depends)**

 **Darius (5) (unspecified)**

 **Devon (5) (unspecified)**

 **Aran (6) (depends)**

 **Jetta (6) ("definitely an alliance")**

 **Logan (7) (yes)**

 **Kenzi (7) (yes)**

 **Henry (8) (unspecified)**

 **Tulle (8) (probably)**

 **Thanatos (9) (rather not, depends)**

 **Harvest (9) (any and all)**

 **Denny (10) (unspecified)**

 **Cheyenne (10) ("yes please!")**

 **Soot (12) (Careers) (will explain later)**

 **Keola (12) (anyone willing to tolerate her size)**

 **Sparky (13) (unspecified)**

 **Rebelle (13) (none)**

 **Questions!:**

 **Have you voted yet?**

 **Favorite D13 tribute?**

 **Thoughts on Soldier?**

 **Any new thoughts on alliances, now that all the tributes have been shown?**

 **Any new thoughts on Sponsoring?**

 **Are you aware that the title will be changed in roughly 24 hours from now?**

 **See ya on the rails,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	16. The First Journey- Train Rides

**And I'm finally back, forever and 10,000 words later. We are here to hear about seven tributes' final thoughts before the Capitol envelopes their fate.**

 **I am very sorry for the wait. As life would have it, my parents' computer stopped working and so they needed to use mine for their own stuff. Every time I took it back to my room to write, I'd hear, "John! I still need to use that!" Even though they hadn't touched it in over a half an hour. So, yeah, my apologies. They're getting a new one though!**

 **Reviews!:**

 **dreams and desperation: That's certainly interesting. Thanks for the review!**

 **roses burning: Dang, I was really hoping for a long, philosophical review that would leave me in tears, I love those ones! Thanks for the review either way!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: I've got you down for Sponsoring Cheyenne. Remember, if you feel the need, you may change it if you'd like. Thanks for the review!**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: I'm glad you like Rebelle and Sparky, they were fun to write for! Thanks for the review!**

 **InfiniteDespair: I agree, Rebelle is a pretty strong character. She should last awhile, given she doesn't do anything reckless. I'm sure more alliances will begin to take shape after we reach the Capitol. It's difficult to reach out to other districts on the train rides, but in the chariot chapter or in training is the best time for it. Thanks for the review!**

 **Thanks again for your patience and reviews. I've tried my hardest to get my laptop back so I could finish this chapter, I promise!**

 **In TranscendentElvenRanger's** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my District One female tribute, Atalanta Bliss, is a confirmed survivor of Day 5, with 1 kill. She's made the Top 14, and that's farther than any of my other tributes!**

 **I have created a site via weebly. The address is lordzagreushungergames .weebly .com. Let me know what you think of the tributes!**

 **Congratulations to Jaybird8101 for giving my 100** **th** **review! As a reward, I'm giving her 15 extra points!**

 **I am not Suzanne Collins. I do not own the Hunger Games, or anything else I reference.**

* * *

Cordin Bolt, Age 16, District 3 Male

* * *

It's always amazed me how quickly one's fortune could change. One second, you're a nobody with no friends or money. The next, you catch a clever six-year-old girl trying to steal some old gears out of your garage. The next, you commit the greatest robbery you've never heard of.

And then you are invited on a one-way trip to a free-for-all death match.

Every Victor ever had some sort of skillset that they took into the Games. Brute strength. Archery. Charm. As I board the Train of Doom, I realize that thievery has helped maybe three.

Infiniti isn't in the first car, which I assume immediately is the dining car. I can tell because the walls are covered in blood red fabric, the floor and ceiling slightly darker. As Harpy, the ridiculously-dressed escort, steps through the threshold and stands behind me, the doors close and she squeals, "Oh, good. Lunch is ready!" It also helps that there was a huge table covered in plates of pastries, meats, drinks, anything you could imagine.

It is extremely hard to resist the urge to ask the escort to leave so I can fill my satchel.

To my right, a door opens, spitting out my District partner Infiniti, who had apparently found her room and changed out of her completely grey attire. Instead, she's changed into a floor-length sparkling blue dress. I hope Harpy doesn't make me find a match.

Harpy chirps from behind me, "Well. Now that we're all here, I think introductions are in order. I'm Harpy Angels, your escort this year. I've been mentoring since the One-Hundred Twenty-Sixth. Since then, only two tributes from Three have come home. However, don't be disheart-"

"Look, Lady. We don't need your help to get out of these Games." Infiniti snaps, "If we're going to win, it will be with the help of a _Victor_. So, where are our mentors? Half of our living Victors should be on this train, and I haven't seen any. Where are they?" She points an accusing look at Harpy, and I take a step away to avoid the glare.

Harpy doesn't back down as I had. Instead, she inclines her head ever so slightly, looking down her nose at Infiniti as a disappointed mother would. I decide to take a seat to watch.

Calmly, Harpy lifts the ridiculous hat off her head-the Ten boy from the 148th's beheading taking place on the computer screen-and places it gently on the hat rack. She looks up at Infiniti. She sighs. "Child, take a seat please."

But Infiniti doesn't move. Sighing once more, Harpy rounds the table, grabbing a silver goblet along the way. She sits across from me, handing me the cup. I take it reluctantly, wary of the pink fluid inside. Harpy isn't looking at me though.

"Infiniti, this may come as a shock to you, but none of Three's living Victors are going to come to your aid this year. I'm all you have until you reach the Capitol. Seven of your eleven Victors are dead, and two of them are in the Capitol as we speak, coming out of what we in the Games business call "hibernation."

She gives us a moment to let that sink in. Then Infiniti has an expression screaming with sarcasm. "Oh yeah!" She says, "So Beetee and Wiress, who we all know died in the Quell seventy-five years ago, are coming back to life to give us advice? That's fantastic! I should get the scary boy from Two to behead me during training! Then, they can bring me back to life like Nuts and Volts! Just fantastic!" She dramatically pretends to stab herself in the stomach, and collapses to the ground.

"Don't be silly!" Harpy insists. "Beetee and Wiress haven't mentored together since the Fourth Quell! You have Ingrid and Matrix to help you out!" She smiles and raises her arms as if this revelation is what could save our lives.

"Oh yeah?" Infiniti asks. "Well then how many-"

"Infiniti stop." I cut in. "Fighting with our escort isn't going to stop anything that's going to happen. One way or another, you'll die, or I'll die, or we'll both die. But if you refuse to believe that old, dead Victors could be brought back to life, at least _try_ to be nice to the person who would no doubt watch over us in a situation where said event isn't possible. Harpy was just talking. She didn't offend your intelligence or anything."

"So you're siding with her, huh? If that's how you're going to play it, sucking up to that Capitol witch, I will give you two some space. But stay out of mine." Her voice is cold, dark. She turns quickly, her dress billowing around her. She walks back through the door she entered through. She gives me one more glare, and I swear her eyes, previously a pretty dark green, were glowing red.

"I should go after her." Harpy says. "Any tribute would be shaken up after such a conversation. Besides, I feel I need to apologize." She rises from her chair slowly, probably contemplating what in Panem she could say. I stand before she leaves the table.

"No." I tell her. "I said something that made her want to leave. I have to fix this. She's my partner. We can't be enemies on day One." She nods, giving a small smile. Taking a deep breath, I venture through the open door and down a small, surprisingly lit hallway, decorated much the same as the car I had just exited. I only knew I was in a new car because a section of the floor shifted slightly with each bend the train took.

A little ways down, I find two doors across from each other. The one on my right is ajar, the left one completely closed. I take an educated guess, and push open the one on my right.

The room is brighter than I thought it would be. The floor looks soft, the walls paneled in a light wood. A large window looks out opposite the door, and a large canopy bed dominates the room. Infiniti is curled up in a ball, sobbing quietly.

Hesitantly, I walk over, sitting on the bed. Infiniti freezes, aware of the strange presence. She looks over at me warily.

"You okay?" I ask reassuringly.

"I guess." She sniffles, "I just… I just can't stand them, you know?" I don't.

"You mean Harpy?" I ask, "Escorts?" It seems a little dumb to me to hate escorts, of all people, on sight, but if that's her deal, then…

"No." She corrects me, "Capitol people in general. They do what they want because they can't receive consequences. They experiment and they murder. All for their newest possible fad, their possible problems."

"Infiniti, what are you talking about?" I ask, totally unsure of where she's heading with these statements.

"When I was small, I ran away." She looks me in the eyes. Hers are a light grey, and I almost reel back in shock. "Some Capitol scientist found me. He took me in, tried to make me believe it was safe. He showed me his lab. He chained me to a table even as I heard the screams of others echo through the halls. He told me I was only going to test a new product, assured me that all the other test subjects were fine. He injected a dark liquid into my body."

She covers her face with her hands, as if ashamed, and everything clicks together. "Since then, they've made a cure for it, but they haven't given it to me. This has been permanent since I was very little."

* * *

Aran Quade, Age 17, District 6 Male

* * *

I'm sitting in my room, watching as District Six disappears into the distance. The one place I had called home for so long, taken from me with a slip of paper. And there's a good chance I'll never see it again.

 _Stop it!_ I scold myself. _You have to get home. For Reyna._

I jump slightly as a loud pounding wakes me from my thoughts. I turn toward the door, the source of the annoyance. "Mr. Quade, this is very ungentlemanlike. You cannot just leave a lady waiting! You come out this instant! Supper's been ready for ten minutes!" Fuschia keeps pounding and I feel like burying an axe in her face. The mental image, however, makes me get up and unload what little food I still have in my system into a garbage can.

"I'll be right out!" I call when I finish. Food doesn't really sound good right now, but Fuschia'd probably skin me alive if I don't do as she asked. Wiping my face on my sleeve, I groan as I realize I still had my prisoner's uniform on. Easily slipping it off, I find my closet and look through the various clothing items I had been offered. Each my size exactly, it's difficult to choose something Fushia would approve of.

Finally, I settle on a maroon top and blue jeans, either of them rare in most Districts, Six included. The feel of the v-neck shirt is surprising, giving how soft it is. Nothing like those ratty prison clothes.

The banging on my door resumes, and I groan in frustration as I go to answer it. I'm still barefoot, but I'm sure Fuschia would rather I be no later. Grasping the cool, black handle, I throw the door open, and my escort stumbles into the room.

"Well it's about time!" She scoffs angrily, and I think I can see actual smoke coming out of her ears. She reaches to grab my arm, but I brush her off and push past her, walking down the thin hallway to the dining car.

Two figures are sitting at the dining table, whom I recognize as my District partner, Jetta, and one of our Victors, Railer Playne. The man, in his late fifties, had salt-and-pepper hair and dark skin. He was also eating just about everything on the table, ignoring me. Completely unlike Jetta, of course, who was sitting there obediently, watching my every move. Her plate, filled with steak, potatoes and gravy, was untouched.

"Well!" Fuschia announced in an attempt to get Railer's attention. "What are we going to do about our tributes, Railer? What's your plan to get them out alive?"

Railer dropped a half-eaten hog leg even as it entered his mouth. He looked up at Fuschia, his glare staring her down even with the grease covering his face. "It should be easy enough to get them out of the Arena, won't it, _Fuschia_? After all, I've brought home two of our last three Victors, so it should be a piece of cake, huh?" His sarcastic smile is filled with venom, and Fuschia either can't see it or doesn't care.

"Well, of course!" She looked at Railer like _duh! You've got this covered, man._ I think back to the previous three Victors. Kendra Steele won the One-hundred Tenth, Spacia Wills and Lane Trax the Hundred Twenty-first and Hundred Forty-first. A guaranteed Victor this year, as Fuschia described, seems extremely far-fetched to me.

I look down at the table, covered in enough food to feed all of District Six for at least one meal. I know most of it will get thrown away, kept out of the grasp of the starving District children, like Reyna. It sickens me.

I pull out a chair and begin to stack a plate.

The plate is a hard glass, pure white and without cracks. The first thing I grab is a potato, baked by the avoxes to perfection. I give it a little gravy, not too much but enough to moisten it. I grab a steak, slightly larger than Jetta's but not as bloody.

I pause as I reach for a platter covered in baked goods. A fat, soft-looking baguette is lying over it, its ends dangling slightly over the edge of the plate, just like the one in the bakery last night. Was it only last night?

I snatch it up and take a huge bite out of the middle angrily. That money was for food. For Reyna. And that criminal just stole it from me! From Rey… Reyna.

Thinking about her makes me sad, and for a moment I stop thinking about the food, now messily forgotten on my plate, covered in gravy and cow blood. My eyes well with tears, the thought of my little sister encouraging them to trickle down my face. The way her face lights up when she talks. Her sleeping face when I check on her before I leave for work.

"How about you Aran?" I shake myself from my thoughts, wiping the tears from my eyes. Railer is looking at me expectantly, and I can't help but stutter.

"Wh-what? I'm sorry, I wasn't listening. What are we talking about?" My voice is shaky, though by the time Railer speaks again I have it under control.

"Do you have any skills? Anything Kiara can focus on when talking up Sponsors? Jetta tells me you worked at her father's station. Anything from there?" Railer looks at me kindly, his face showing concern.

"I'm not sure." I say, "I'm strong to an extent, I suppose. Heaving those heavy suitcases and spare parts onto the trains has given me that. I can usually hold my own in a fist fight, but-"

"And what about the Reapings? Why were you arrested?" His eyes are boring into me, and I have to resist the instinct to sink further into my chair.

I take a deep breath. "I broke into the Transcontinental Bakery on Union Pacific Avenue and Central Pacific Road. I had been mugged and I had no money to feed my sister." I look down, ashamed. "I got caught."

Fuschia, who I didn't realize was still in the room, inhales sharply. "Young man, that was irresponsible behavior! You could have simply reported the incident to the peacekeepers, or gone to see the Minister of Tesserae! That was impolite, reckless, and-"

"Shut _up_ , Fuschia. The boy was just trying to survive, for heaven's sake! What he did doesn't matter now. He's a tribute now, and what happened in the past doesn't matter anymore! So stuff your stupidly ridiculous wig up your-" I stifle a giggle as Railer proceeds to tell Fuschia off, until she decides to leave the room. Jetta and I both sigh in relief.

Railer stares at the door, a triumphant look on his face. Jetta's is one of bewilderment, and I get the feeling that she has never imagined pulling such a stunt herself.

"Okay," Jetta speaks first, breaking the silence. "So what are we gonna do now, coach?"

"Well," Railer answers slowly, "until we get to the Capitol, I'm going to be the mentor for both of you. Hopefully, Kiara will meet us at the station tomorrow, as she will be mentoring you, Aran. However, I am willing to help you out in any way I can until then. Let's talk strategy for now. The Reaping recaps are soon."

* * *

Thanatos Rize, Age 15, District 9 Male

* * *

This is my favorite part of the Games: the finale. On the screen is a replay of the One-hundred Twenty-third Games. It's the final Four, which is arguably the bloodiest part of the Games.

That year, the only weapons provided were bludgeoning weapons. War hammers, staffs, even titanium nun chucks. The final tributes all worked very hard to get there: the boy from Ten, who killed his own District partner to obtain her mace. The little girl from Eight, a surprise in the Games, who killed the girl from Four using a sling she had made by herself. The pretty girl from Twelve, who had flirted her way through three kills, and got a hatchet as a gift. And finally, from District Nine, Bucky Peck, the boy who's had six kills, the tributes from One, the boys from Two and Four, and the pair from Seven, his former allies. He wielded a metal club, stained yellow and red.

As I watch, the four tributes circle each other. Finally, the 12-year-old from Eight, being the closest to Victory in twenty-eight years, made a move. She swiftly pulled a small, smooth stone from her pocket, and placed it in her sling. Having had two weeks to hone her skills, she launched her deadly projectile at Bucky, who easily knocked it out of the way. Before Eight could reload, Twelve through her only hatchet, cutting Eight's sling in half and embedding itself into a nearby tree. Eight took one look at Twelve, then turned and ran after it. Twelve chased after her.

The moves from the girls spurred Ten into action, who charged Bucky, swinging his mace wildly. Bucky blocked the first swing, then fell into a fast paced dance with his opponent.

A cannon rang, but neither party noticed it. The girl from Eight emerged from the woods, blood staining her new blade. She began attacking a tree vigorously in an attempt to prepare for her final battle. Meanwhile, the boys' battle raged on.

Metal met metal in a fury of parries and blows. Bucky suffered many cuts from the mace's spikes, Ten's left arm shattered. Finally, Bucky feigned an attack to Ten's injured side, and he attempted to block it. In response, Bucky spun and smashed Ten's temple. His head exploded like a watermelon.

The hatchet came out of nowhere. Bucky hadn't even had time to take a breather when Eight chucked it at him, burying it in his thigh to the surprise of both the tributes. Bucky collapsed to the ground, the blade slipping out of the wound.

"Any last words, Nine?" She asked after retrieving her hatchet. She swung and swung, Bucky's club somehow blocking everything. Until his strength gave out. Tears glistened Eight's eyes. "I'm sorry." She says.

Bucky grunts as Eight rears back for the killing blow. Bucky's hand grips the shaft of the mace and he lifts it, hitting Eight in the head with all his might. Blood and brain spatters everywhere, and the trumpets sound.

"That won't happen to us, Than. Ten. Eight. One of us can win just like Bucky did. Like any of them. We won't have our heads smashed by a club or mace. I promise." I turn around, seeing that Harvest is right behind me.

"And what makes you think I was worried?" I ask her angrily.

"Well, I just-" Tears well up in her eyes, and I can see her as the little girl from Eight, afraid and unaware of just how dead she is.

"Look, little girl." I start slowly, so that she will understand. "I am not afraid. In fact, I am excited. That right there? _I_ will be like Bucky Peck in this story. I will be this Games' Victor Helah. Its Amber Zaman. I will win these Games. And you know something, little girl?" She looks at me in fear, and I can't help but smirk. "Do you remember the girl from Nine in your brother's Games?" She nods quickly. "You will be just like her. Another death right after the gong rings. You will be disemboweled, stinking of blood and urine on the Cornucopia plain!" I emphasize the last part, and she runs out of the room, crying loudly.

Stanleis bursts into the room then, through the door Harvest just ran _out_ of. "What did you _do_?" He looks at me accusingly. "I have a Victor's sister out there _crying_ , and I promised that she would be ready for the cameras upon our arrival _tomorrow_! You had better have a good explanation or I swear..."

He attempted to let the threat hang in the air, but I shot it down. "Woah, man, calm down a tad. Sheesh." I shook my head in annoyance. "I was just watching the finale for Bucky's Games. She couldn't take it and ran."

Stanleis calms down really quickly, nodding in understanding. "That one _was_ rather terrifying, wasn't it?" He looks at me for a moment, then claps his hands and squeals. "Oh, but it was so exciting! I wasn't alive to see it, of course, I _was_ only born in the Hundred Twenty-ninth. But it's always been one of my favorites!" He plops down next to me and gestures to the remote. I flip back to the _Finale_ chapter, but he insists we start at the Reapings.

The room goes dark, the screen reading **123** **rd** **Annual Hunger Games**. Suddenly, the Panem seal appears, underneath it the words **Mandatory Viewing**. Assuming it's the Reaping recaps, I call out, "Harvest, get in here! The recaps are starting, and it's mandatory viewing! Hurry up!" I don't watch for her to walk in, but I do hear her take a seat on the other side of Stanleis. I am unable to hide the smile creeping onto my face.

The Justice Building in District One appears, the same as it does every year. The faces in the crowd are all calm, aware that they're all safe from the Games. A girl is called, though only half her name is spoken before the traditional "I volunteer!" rings out. A girl, seventeen, walked up the aisle, a wide grin on her face. Her bright orange hair hurt my eyes.

She mounts the stage, and the escort, Turquoise Marr, asks her, "What's your name, dear?"

"Malaya Garnet." She answers, "And I am your next Victor!" As usual, the Career is claiming Victory before the Games even start.

When Turquoise calls up the male tribute, she starts, "Dere-" obviously expecting an immediate volunteer. When none show, she apologizes and calls out, "Derek Tinsel!"

The escort seems disappointed when the thin, shallow husk of a tribute starts to make his way to the stage. Then the sacred words ring out, "I volunteer!"

Stanleis sharply inhales, unable to take his eyes off the boy who had just volunteered. "Oh my goodness." He breathes.

I didn't really understand why, but I suppose he would seem attractive to most, what with his large build, and all, but Stanleis (and apparently Turquoise) seemed to be in love at their first sighting of the man. I discreetly scooted myself away from Stanleis, but he didn't notice.

Stanleis gave a little groan as the escort from One led the tributes into the Justice Building, Turquoise's hand apparently too far down his back for his liking.

The screen went dark again.

* * *

Jade Heghes, Age 65, District 1 Female Mentor

134th Hunger Games Victor

* * *

I'm sitting in the theater car next to Malaya as the Justice Building in District Two appears on the screen. The first thing she did when she got on the train was grab a plate of treats come in here, waiting for the Reapings. Like me, she is doing her best to avoid Marcus and Turquoise. Marcus has been trying to avoid the stupid escort, who is practically drooling over him, to no avail. Instead, he's trying to take my advice and ignore her.

As the screen grows dark once more, I snap at Turquoise to shut up. She reluctantly obeys, and the escort from Two, Roz Hiccurb, begins to give his speech on honor and sacrifice.

Screw honor and sacrifice.

A boy, somehow very familiar, sneaks up onto the stage during the video. Roz doesn't notice, and when the video ends, he says something into the mic, though it isn't there, the mystery boy having had taken it. Roz looks around in confusion, and Malaya and I burst out laughing.

The boy raises the microphone to his lips, and announces, "My name is Mason Lepodolite, younger brother of Annie Lepodolite, Victor of the 142nd Hunger Games at the age of 12. And now, I volunteer as Victor."

Roz swipes the microphone from Mason, who I remember very clearly now. Annie showed me a picture of him to me a few years ago, telling me how Two would have a brother/sister Victor team like the Xerces twins. I had forgotten that conversation up until now.

Roz is grumbling as he makes his way to the girls' bowls, no doubt complaining about what he'll have to go through. He calls a name, but I don't hear it. I want to see the other half of Two's team as soon as she appears.

The sacred words are called, and a girl, fairly thin and quite pretty, with auburn hair a little darker than Malaya's, strides up to the stage. She seems quite confident, but I can't tell what her skillset may consist of. I tell Malaya to watch out for her, and she nods.

Roz Reaps a boy, but only mutters the name. Mason, as cocky and proud as his sister, informs the escort _again_ that he Volunteers. I roll my eyes.

District Three comes on screen, and I make sure my tributes are paying attention. Marcus may be Gloss', but he's in my care for the moment.

The girl, seventeen, seemed wealthier than most of the other residents. Her intelligence may be a problem. The boy, sixteen, was looking at a girl on the other side of the aisle, his face contorted in anger. When he finally makes it to the stage, I note how he seems well fed, yet fairly poor. Probably just a low life pickpocket.

I pay Four as much attention as I did Two. The familiar District Four children are filed in their separate pens, two of them about to enter the Games they no doubt trained very hard for. The escort, having been assigned to Four during Wheat's year, had changed his name to Seaweed Herring to "further his cause." I thought he was quite ridiculous.

I hold back a gasp as I realize that he forgot about the video. Normally, the Treaty of Treason, as well as a video tailored to each District, was played as a reminder for the importance of the Games. However, he jumped straight into the Reapings.

"Keira Morx!" He calls. Even Turquoise jumps at the name, as do all the Victors on Four's stage. Orca Morx, who won the One-Thirty-Ninth, is moaning in horror.

Keira is calm as she walks down the aisle, seemingly calm. As she mounts the steps however, her features are filled with terror.

A voice sings out, "I Volunteer!" and a girl, quite attractive and sure to get Malaya and the other Careers plenty of Sponsors, saunters her way to the stage. She and Keira hug, earning an "aww!" from Turquoise. I laugh at the way she swings her hips, reminding me of a show I was once a star of. Until the Games.

After introducing herself as Esmeralda Annalise Dawn, Seaweed calls out a boy's name. Two voices answer the call. A boy emerges from the sixteens, halfway down the aisle before an eighteen can even show himself. He shrinks back into the crowd, defeated.

Mera and Jasper Blue are led into the building as the screen fades.

The girl from Five, Devon Rose, seems to me like a seventeen-year-old girl with nothing to lose. I figure she'll probably give up in the bloodbath, when a high pitched voice calls out, "That's my mommy!" Turquoise cries at this, until she can hear laughing from the screen. The boy, Darius Line, walks up to the stage, and the poor escort sobs harder, running out of the room. Marcus sighs in relief.

There's a slight commotion in Six. The boy attempts to fight his way through Peacekeepers, his hands cuffed. One officer punches him in the stomach with his baton, and uncuffs him while he's doubled over. The guards dump him on the stage.

"He's willing to fight." I say aloud, "Take him out as soon as possible. We don't want another Bucky Peck." They only nod.

Seven has no surprises, other than the girl smashing the escort's face with a pie. The boy is a lumberjack, which Marcus points out before I can say anything.

Henry Reynoso, the boy from Eight, looks like nothing more than a factory worker. We'll have to make sure of that. The girl, Tulle Salane, with tears in her eyes, asks the crowd, "Ready to break the streak?" no doubt referring to the fifty-five year loss Eight's having. They'll have to wait, I'm afraid.

I am downright shocked when Wheat's sister is Reaped. She seems sweet, unprepared for something like the Games. Wheat is probably devastated. The boy seems odd, almost gliding up to the stage. He seems fairly confident, but a bloodbath in the end. For both of them.

The girl from Ten might be a contender. Ten doesn't have many Victories, at only seven, and the mentors must be intrigued with the potential in the thirteen-year-old who evaded law enforcement for a half an hour. The boy, however, seems strong to an extent, but he's very hard to read, especially from just a Reaping.

The boy from Eleven is angry. It rolls off him in waves. I've seen it before, and it can be helpful, or very hindering. His anger could get him down quick, or it could lead him to the throne. Whichever one it is, I have no idea what it will mean for my tributes. The girl screamed, a wail so petrifying we were all relieved when it stopped.

Twelve, as usual, was of no note. The girl was malnourished, and thirteen. The boy, also thirteen, was too innocent to make it far. As much as I hate it, I'm not sure Twelve will make a miracle out of either of them. Two more for the slaughterhouse.

The boy from Thirteen was crazy, and, at twelve, the youngest in this year's Games. The girl Volunteered, a first for the District. Her name alone could either get her killed or help her get far. Rebelle Rine's fate has a tone of mystery around it.

* * *

Jasper Blue, Age 16, District 4 Male

* * *

As the screen fades to black, Mera begins to express her thoughts to Halibut, her "official" mentor.

"The Ones seem fairly basic, the Twos overconfident. I can take them. The Threes should be easy. They seldom have any _good_ surprises-"

"What about you, Jasper?" Halibut interrupts her. He's been trying to make me feel included, as Kinzie is in the Capitol, so I can't talk to her. It's gotten rather annoying. "What do you think of your fellow Careers?"

I look at him. "The Careers seem tough, but they'd eat me alive. No offense, Esmeralda." She inclines her head in understanding. I'm sure she was hoping I wouldn't try to get into the alliance. "I'm not as trained as the rest of them. If they felt they had to drop someone, I would be the first. I don't want to take that chance." Halibut opens his mouth to argue, but closes it. He played the same way I plan to, so he can't counter it without sounding hypocritical. He turns back to Mera.

"You were saying?"

"I could take Blue." She looks at me, "No offense." I roll my eyes and she smiles, "But that's worst case scenario, District honor and all. The Fives should be easy enough, as they always are. The boy from Six could be a problem, we'll have to watch him closely. Seven's bland. Nine should be fairly interesting. The girl from Ten, like Six, could be a potential threat. However, she's only thirteen.

"Thirteen could be a problem. She Volunteered with no known motive, and the Capitol will love her heritage. And Twelve…" A smile crosses her face. "I want to ally with Twelve."

Halibut looks at her sharply. "And just what for? Sure, she Volunteered, but Mera, she's probably one of the weakest players on the field! Why on earth would you-"

"I want to have some fun." She says simply, "If I can sway more Sponsors from Nine and Thirteen, I can survive the split. I can ally with Twelve, and people will love it! I can protect him in the Bloodbath, and kill him theatrically in the end! They'd love it!" Halibut looks at her, intrigued. Anything to bring his tribute home, I suppose.

As they begin to plot how Mera'd work the Bloodbath and the rest of the Games, I leave the car and head to my room to think.

Two cars down, I make my way to where my quarters are until we land in the Capitol. Sitting on my bright blue bed, I grab the remote and turn on the television. The projection appears above the chest of drawers, and the room is suddenly filled with noise.

"-about this one, Nero?" Julius Incandes is sitting at a table with Nero Domitian, talking on _The Hunger Games Network._ Julius gestures behind him, where a girl, the color of her jacket indicating she was from District One, is hanging from a tree, tangled in a dirty net.

From the tree line, a boy appears, only about fourteen but already growing into his looks. Grimly, he raises a trident, and the eighteen-year-old girl gives a final shriek of terror before the trident is ripping into her side, and a cannon fires. Trumpets ring, announcing the Victory of Finnick Odair.

"Now, now, Julius, I have an idea." Nero looks past the camera. "Can we get the finale for the Sixty-Fifth and the One-Hundred Fortieth, please?" He nods his head, and the two men look behind them again.

The screen is split vertically, and I see the girl from One on the left, in the net once more. On the right, the scenery is quite different. It's a ruined city, unlike Finnick's marsh. The boy from Two is thrashing in the same position the girl from One was in all those years ago. A trident flies out one of the windows in a nearby skyscraper, embedding itself in Two's abdomen. He roars in outrage, ripping out the weapon and cutting himself free. The finale in Finnick's Games has already ended, so Halibut's Games enlarges, taking the whole screen.

Two, having escaped, glares up at the window, then down at his belly wound. He growls, until it grows into a deep, guttural roar. He charges the building, unaware of Halibut escaping through the second floor window. He drops onto Two's back, a knife in hand. They both hit the ground hard, Halibut breaking a leg. He scrambles to retrieve his trident, but he needn't have worried, as his knife had embedded itself in Two's throat.

"You know, Julius, it's amazing how some strategies work for some, and not for others. For instance, the Retiarius bit has only worked for a couple Fours thus far. Waiting out the others usually works for Sixes. And the role of Maverick usually applies to Sevens, Nines, Tens and Elevens." Nero says thoughtfully.

"I understand what you mean, Nero." Julius agrees, "Threes and Fives build various traps more often than not. District One requires a graceful skillset and Twos need brute strength. Eight and Twelve need their survival skills."

"Oh, but what about Thirteen? What do they need in a Victor?" Nero stares inquisitively. He looks at the camera. "What do you think Panem? Call in at 4-864-374-2637, and tell us what you think!" Instantly, a green button on the table pulses with light, and Julius taps it.

"Hello, caller! What's your name?" Julius asks, looking down at the table.

"Yes, hello!" The voice is that of an old woman, delicate and shaky. "My name is Kara Wells, and I'm ninety-six and-"

"Yes, yes, hello Kara! What do you think a tribute from Thirteen needs to win?" Nero laughs.

"Oh yes, hold on." All goes silent as the lady thinks up an answer.

"Madam, are you still there?"

"Oh yes, sorry. My name is Kara Wells. I'm ninety-six, I own three cats, I have seven great-great grandchildren, and-"

Nero sighs. "What about Thirteen, Miss Wells? Thirteen?" Julius shoots him a look, and he shuts up.

"Oh, yes, sorry." She laughs, reminding me of witches from the patriotic Capitol shows I used to watch when I was a kid. "Thirteen needs-" She take a deep breath, unable to finish the joke through her laughing. "Needs- needs- needs… Numbers!" She laughs harder and harder, until we hear a hard THUD and the com device clattering across a tiled floor.

Julius and Nero don't hear it, though, they're too busy laughing. We hear the whole studio busting a rib. "Numbers!" Julius cries. "They only won when they filled half the Arena!" More giggles, "Good one Kara! Thank you! Have a-" He pauses for more laughter, "Have a lovely day!"

Nero looks into the camera, his usually paper-white face a bright red. "We'll be back!" He takes a deep breath, "After a short break!" He laughs again, and the words _Ninety-Second_ appear on the screen.

Exhaling deeply, I lift the remote and press the power button. My eyes are growing heavy, and I can't take it much longer. Standing, I walk over to the chest of drawers, and open the uppermost drawer. Selecting a set of light blue silk pajamas, I pull off my dirty, worn clothes from the CTC. I don't need them anymore, after all. Next time I'm home, I'll either be in a box or the Victor's Village.

Unceremoniously, I collapse into the bed, not bothering to cover myself with the sheets. I have a big day tomorrow.

* * *

Devon Cynthia Rose, Age 17, District 5 Female

* * *

As I wake from the best sleep I've had in a while, I take note of the amount of light filtering through my eyelids. I'm used to waking up when it's dark, to Ori's cries. I've never woken naturally.

I realize what it must mean. Throwing my eyes open, I jump out of bed, searching for the door. I'm still squinting, but I know where my child's room is. I break through the door, in a near blind sprint down the hallway. I trip over something on the floor, and I brace myself, but I don't make impact with the back wall.

"Well, what a surprise! I'm glad to see you so eager, Devon! But really, breakfast would have been willing to wait for you. Darius isn't even up yet, the silly boy!" I whip my head around in terror, recognizing the voice and the name. I quickly proceed to rub the sleep from my eyes. And then I realize where I am.

Dole Arrack is offering a hand to me, gesturing toward the breakfast table. Like last night, it's covered in food, ranging from bagels with rainbow-colored specks to deli platters to waffles to more types of cold cereal than I had ever seen before.

I groan as I realize it wasn't all a nightmare. I'm still on my way to the Capitol. I'm still a tribute in the Quarter Quell.

As Dole releases me to go find Darius, I hesitantly make my way to the mahogany table. Fosca Beralia, who I now remember to be my mentor, is watching me intently.

"How are you doing this morning, Devon?" She asks me gently. I nod shakily, grateful for the kind gesture.

"I'm fine, Ms. Beralia." I look her in the eyes. Her look of concern stares back, even as I grab a raisin bagel.

"You don't look _fine_." She accuses me.

I give a slight smile. "I'm doing as well as anyone can in my situation. After all, we're all just _so honored_ to have a shot in the Games. Isn't that right, Dole?" I ask as he reenters the room, a surprisingly calm-looking Darius in tow.

"Oh, of course!" She replies as she claps her hands together. "You two will get to work alongside the greats! Matt was Five's first Victor, and Fosca had the most kills of any District Five tribute! What an honor indeed!" She squeals in excitement, then crosses the room to grab what she had called the night before a "cheese Danish."

 _What a weird name for a lump of bread._ I think.

"So Devon, Darius. What do you have that could potentially help you in the Arena?" Fosca asks, looking in our direction. I am acutely aware that Fosca isn't technically Darius' mentor, but I stay quiet.

I open my mouth to speak, but Darius goes first. "I've fought before." He says. "Peacekeepers mostly. I have a past with the Head Peacekeeper." He glances my way, but doesn't say anything. I hear a gasp from behind me.

"How could you do such a thing?" Dole asks in horror. "The Peacekeepers are valiant guardians to their respected Districts. How could you even consider picking a fight with one? Are Fives really that uneducated?"

I sigh in exasperation, but Darius stands, glaring at our new escort, who was promoted to our District after Bubble Clearwater "disappeared." His gaze is filled with fury, the type of rage that, unchecked, can be very, very bad in the Arena.

"How about you leave." He suggests, barely containing himself. I look over to Fosca in a panic, but she only smirks. I look back at Dole, who looks as if she's shriveling under Darius' glare. She breaks into tears and runs from the dining car, probably to her first-class stateroom.

"And how about you, Dev?" Fosca is looking at me as if nothing had happened. I suppose Dole _was_ rather insensitivetoward District Five's Fifth Quarter Quell tributes. Perhaps she really deserved… whatever that was.

"Well…" I answer hesitantly, searching my thoughts for fair answers. What have I done in life that could give me an edge in the Arena? All I've done in recent years is look after Ori. My child's sweet face makes itself present in my mind, and I can picture him sitting there, waiting for me to sing him into dreamland.

"I don't know." I finally answer, aware of the panic creeping into my voice. Ori, my sweet child, I'm not sure mommy's coming home.

"Oh, I'm sure there's something." She presses. "Not all the Victors, even those in the Career Districts, won with sheer strength or swordsmanship. Some were clever. Some were agile. Some were manipulative. Some were just lucky, though I wouldn't suggest trying that route. Heck, Finnick Odair won because he was attractive. My own sister placed eleventh in the last quell because people found her comedic."

"And she killed three people." I pointed out, remembering various replays of that Games. "Including the Victor's best friend. But I can't kill. I have a child, Fosca. I can't go back to my baby after taking someone else's, I just can't!"

Fosca looks at me sadly, and Darius fiddles in his chair, looking extremely uncomfortable. My hands are shaking, and I realize that I had at some point picked up a knife. I scream in horror and throw it across the room. Fosca's eyes follow it until it hits the wall. I turn in curiosity when I don't hear it clatter to the floor.

Dole's eyes are wide, staring at the butter knife protruding from the wall inches from her nose.

"I-I'm so sorry!" I exclaim. "I didn't mean to! I'm so sorry, are you okay?" She looks at me, her eyes glazed over in shock. As I watch, they roll into the back of her head and she collapses. I run to help her, when I hear laughter from the table.

Fosca is holding her chest as it heaves, and she's jumping up and down in her chair. Darius is looking at me curiously, the way he did when he asked me about my connection with the Head Peacekeeper.

Now, however, there's a hint of fright in his gaze.

* * *

Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District 7 Female

* * *

I'm pretty sure Lumeo hates me. I mean, I guess it makes sense, what with the dozens of pies I've found and covered him in. Just last night, I set a trap in his bed, which took the pressure of him lying down to release the ten blueberry pies which toppled onto his bed from wires in the ceiling, causing him to wake up screaming.

Right now I'm setting up yet another trap for Lumeo. I'm alone in the dining car, everybody wanting to look good for the Capitol when we arrive in about an hour. I've set up a series of ropes that will be pulled when the door is opened and send the dining table flying toward the open door, which I told Logan and Oak about so they aren't in the way. They think I'm doing it for the sake of publicity, and I'd like to say it's only because it's funny.

But I did set it up for publicity. On the outside, I'm laughing constantly, while talking loud and pulling pranks. Inside, however, I am freaking out. My skill set is limited, and though traps can help someone win the Games, I'd have to risk my life for supplies. And I can't even use an axe…

Oak said to use all my strengths to my advantage. My strengths stand at comedy and beauty. Sure, I could fairly easily get a Sponsor out of that, but Sponsors don't make up the whole Games. And if I don't make it past the Bloodbath, they're useless.

I shake my head and paste a smile back on my face as I finish my contraption. Walking around, I check the riggings to make sure they're tied correctly and hidden well. I stop before checking the last one, however, when I catch Lumeo out of the corner of my eye.

"What are you up to now, _girl_?" He asks me arrogantly. Remember what I said about him hating me? "You should be getting ready for our arrival, not playing your silly games. Now, off to your room, so I may inspect the area. I will not have this brand new suit ruined by your shenanigans." He takes me by the arm and shoves me to the door leading to the bedrooms. I don't say anything, thinking desperately.

As we reach the threshold, I get an idea.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong!" I call behind my back, lying easily. "I saw a rat and wanted to get rid of it before you saw. It was over by the door." I feel him freeze behind me, and I try to look at his face, which I assume to be growing pale. He releases me, screaming as he runs past and down the hall, passing through the opposite door and out of sight.

I look back at the table, seemingly normal yet hidden under that façade there lies a surprise. One that I'm sure I put together correctly. Shrugging off the final few lashings, I follow the path Lumeo traced, until I reach the room I had called home the night before. If my only chances lie with good impressions, I'd better start with two.

As I open the top dresser in my drawer, one that's been used by one-hundred-forty-nine other girls from Seven, including eight Victors, I consider what I should wear. I'll need high heels to avoid the food remnants, but I can grab those later. For now, I need to dress impressively.

I giggle slightly as I open the dress drawer provided to me. The silky dresses are folded nicely, organized by their colors. What's funny though, is that each one has something to do with the lumber District.

Every single one is green, brown, covered in trees, sevens, or axes. Some have strategically placed rips, some are tight, and many are very long and flowy. One is pure black, while covered in white circles filled with black sevens. One dark green one has a gap from the neck all the way down to the belly button. I opt to not use either of those.

The one I decide on is a light brown with darker brown swirls and knots surrounding the arms and torso. The lower end of the dress is a forest green, with a long train. The train is crisscrossed in various different leafy patterns, from oak leaves, to pine needles. The tag on the dress claims it to be made from _hydrophobic anti-stain material_. Let's hope that means what I think it means.

Hoping I still have time, I drop the dress neatly onto the bed and hurry to the shower. I set it to _quick rinse_ and shiver slightly as the various scented soaps and shampoos drip onto my body. Something beeps somewhere, and I can't enjoy the warm water for long. I do have an audience to impress, after all.

Jumping out, I stand over the Insta Dry vent, feeling the warm air encircle my body. Still aware that I'm pressed for time, I leave it running and run back into my room to throw on the dress. At the foot of the bed are pair of dark green heels, ones I had never seen before. I can't think about it, though, and I throw on the dress as the cheers of the Capitol invade my room.

Checking to make sure I'm ready, I step into the heels, which are taller than I'm used to, but they'll work. I stretch slightly, and force a look of calm over my face. When they see me, they have to know I am ready. The Games begin here.

Taking a deep, confident breath, I plaster a smile to my face like I had for all those photoshoots. Triumphantly, I walk out into the hall, entering the dining car in time to hear a crash and a scream. And then lots more screams, followed by the flash of a camera.

I look at the open doorway, where paramedics are lifting Lumeo onto a stretcher, one on wheels. The entire dining car is a mess, and I curse myself.

How will the Capitol take this?

* * *

Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10 Female

* * *

I continue to eat, stuffing my stomach with various meat, wheat, dairy produce, and delicacies. I try my best not to overdo it, so I don't puke all over anything, but I need to eat so I have at least some fat reserved for the Arena.

Holy huckleberry, the Arena.

When I was Reaped, I didn't have any thought other than panic. I just took off, evading Peacekeepers to the best of my ability until they cornered me in an abandoned barn. And now, I'm suddenly ranked higher than ten of the other tributes, given a starting odds of 18-1 and an overall rank of sixteenth. How does that even happen to a thirteen-year-old?

She runs for half an hour, apparently.

Ever since then, Tabitha has been looking at me strangely. She was overjoyed when they dragged me back to the Justice Building, and she listened with anticipation as I spoke about my life at home. I guess she doesn't get out much.

And on top of that, she hasn't seemed to really care for Denny. Last night, he locked himself in his room until dinner, then made a beeline back directly after. As I went to bed, I walked up to his door to ask if he needed anything. I could hear screams from the projector, which I assumed were past games, and his sobs, which were just as loud. I haven't seen him since breakfast, when Tabby (as she prefers I call her) asked the big question.

"The biggest thing for either of you in these Games will be allies. Have either of you considered aligning yourself with your District Partner?"

We looked at each other, and I had to wonder whether I should accept the suggestion. With his current emotional status, he could slow us down. Then again, mine hasn't been much better. Plus, you almost always align yourself with your only reminder of home. It's human nature.

Needless to say, we both agreed, and I'm honestly happy to have an ally, no matter who it is.

As I finish off another chocolate pastry, my side begins to hurt, and I decide I'm done. Luckily, we are arriving in the Capitol soon anyway. I wipe my face with a napkin and stride over to the window where I'll be able to make a good first impression.

As I stand there, staring out, my jaw drops. The train is climbing over the peak of a mountain, and I can see the entire Capitol below. It's huge! Each apartment is probably as big as my house, and each complex has hundreds. Various gardens and parks adorn the streets, dotting the scene. The tribute center stands tall and proud, looking much larger in real life than on the projection screens. Once upon a time, it was the tallest building in Panem, a monument to the Capitol and their precious Games. With the population growth they've been having, however, the buildings around the city have overtaken it in size.

As I see the Avenue of Tributes, my throat threatens to lock up. Hundreds of multicolored specks cover the Avenue, from the training center all the way to the President's mansion. That's where the train is headed, to the station nearest the start of the parade. There are so many people waiting for their tributes. Waiting for me.

Can I really just throw myself into the throng of the Capitol elite? How far will they go for an interview? My only protection against them would be Tabby, but she's in a wheelchair for heaven's sake!

I'm still sitting there worried when the screams of the city can be heard through the window. I look up and smile, waving at the bright colors and flashes of light. The people before me are so diverse they could be from another planet. Beaks and feathers, fangs and scales, fins and gills. Everyone has something on their body, something not considered "normal." Normal for the Districts, anyway.

The train starts to slow down, and I hear a door open. I turn to look, and I see Denny pushing Tabitha over to me. "Are you ready?" She calls over the voices. I look up at my ally, who is trying to keep a calm composure.

Taking a deep breath, I give a quiet "Yes," though I'm sure she can't hear me. I nod to make up for it.

"Good." She has to be really loud now. "Come on, we'll be getting off any second!"

I give a final wave, and follow Tabby and Denny to the door through which I had boarded the day before. We stand for only a moment when Sir Rhenough finally makes an appearance. He's holding his head high, ready for the adoring crowd. He doesn't spare any of us Tens a glance, but I ignore it.

The doors open, and I nearly stumble, but Denny catches me in time, pressing between my shoulder blades to steady me. We step out into the crowd, where there are reporters shouting at us, asking us questions and trying to get closer for photos. We answer a few, but only the ones Tabitha suggested. Otherwise, she guides us along to a staircase, where six people, who look no different than the rest of the people in the station, stand quietly, looking at us expectantly.

I am aware that Tabitha can't use the staircase, and I start to panic. I assume this is my prep team, like the ones that take the stage with the Victor every year, but I thought I'd be able to stay with Tabitha, not be forced to be worked upon by strangers.

A dark skinned girl with bright orange hair and a rainbow, feathery cloak steps toward us, bowing to my mentor. "I am Harua, the lead prepwoman for District Ten!" She easily speaks over the crowd, and I don't have to strain myself to hear her. "Me and my team will be preparing Cheyenne for her time in the Capitol. With your blessing, Victor, we will take her from here." She looks up at Tabby, who only nods.

The man and woman behind Harua shuffle forward, bowing to me before they lead me up the stairs. I think I hear Tabby calling after me, but I can't hear what she's saying.

 **And finally, after forever and three days, we are in the Capitol! Woooooo!**

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know: (Remember. You can change who it is up until the Private Sessions)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 106**

 **dreams and desperation: 92**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 88 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female)**_

 **Jaybird1801: 74 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female)**_

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 70**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 68**

 **jayman1919: 65**

 **We're All Okay: 56**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **caitiebug007: 53 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **roses burning: 82**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **InfiniteDespair: 56**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Careers: Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs: Denny (10), and Cheyenne (10).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Loners who will likely get alliances eventually:**

 **Cordin (3) (unspecified)**

 **Infiniti (3) (unspecified)**

 **Jasper (4) (maybe 1 person, depends)**

 **Darius (5) (unspecified)**

 **Devon (5) (unspecified)**

 **Aran (6) (depends)**

 **Jetta (6) ("definitely an alliance")**

 **Logan (7) (yes)**

 **Kenzi (7) (yes)**

 **Henry (8) (unspecified)**

 **Tulle (8) (probably)**

 **Thanatos (9) (rather not, depends)**

 **Harvest (9) (any and all)**

 **Soot (12) (Careers) (will explain later)**

 **Sparky (13) (unspecified)**

 **Rebelle (13) (none)**

 **Questions!:**

 **Catch the historical references?**

 **Thoughts on where the tributes stand?**

 **Favorite POV?**

 **What'd you think about the tributes I took for the chapter?**

 **Any new alliance thoughts? (It'll be easier to put them together now that the tributes can interact) (And yes, I have one alliance in the background. I couldn't throw it together here, sorry.)**

 **Anything else?**

 **See you in the Parade!**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	17. For the World to See- Chariot Parade

**Heyo, peeps! Sorry it's taken so long, but my math class has been hectic, and, well, I have other classes I have to work with. Today, however, I have finally finished the chapter! It probably would have been sooner, but the outfit descriptions got rather tedious… And I read Harry Potter for the first time.**

 **Speaking of outfits, if I didn't describe the costume you described to me, or I have modified it, that was my decision, blah blah blah. Also, anything negative I say, note, is in the POV of my Head Gamemaker, not necessarily my own. So there.**

 **Reviews!:**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: I'm glad you liked it, it took me awhile. Then again, you already knew that. I hope you enjoy this one just as much!**

 **dreams and desperation: Thank for the heads-up, I went back and fixed it. I can't believe it's been nearly a year either… I thought I'd be done by now! Thanks for the review!**

 **roses burning: I'm glad you liked the chapter, I worked hard on it. I'm going to assume that that means Dev's up for any possible all(y)(ies). I'll see what the other tributes say to that.**

 **Jaybird8101: Thanks for the review, one that was** _ **actually**_ **on the chapter we were talking about! I mean, come on Jamers. And honestly, I added that part partially for your own benefit.**

 **TranscendentElvenRanger: Haha, you caught the D6 reference! That was one of the main ones I put in, it's always fun to drop one now and again. Thank you so much for the review!**

 **MushtcheNinja29: I'm glad you liked the chapter, I really tried to open Infiniti's backstory a little bit more. I think I succeeded.**

 **Clis2339: It's okay that you didn't catch any, it was quite a long chapter. I agree with you on the Careers, but I also feel that my outer Districts are quite strong too, albeit younger.**

 **In TranscendentElvenRanger's** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my District One female tribute, Atalanta Bliss, is a confirmed survivor of Day 8 (Part One), with 2 kills. She's made the Top 12, HALLELUJAH! However, I don't like what I think is about to happen…**

 **It has been brought to my attention that the site I made didn't work. I went ahead and fixed it, but I'll put it back up here: lordzagreushungergames .weebly .com. Check it out!**

 **I am going to Disneyland this next week, so I should have the time to update at least once or twice. I know I've promised short waits before, but what else could distract me from writing on the way down, honestly?**

 **I am not Suzanne Collins. I do not own the Hunger Games, or anything else I reference.**

* * *

Mars Viking, Age 20, Capitol

Head Gamemaker

* * *

I have always found it strange how quickly and easily one can move from the lowest class to a seat of highest power. As Head Gamemaker, I have seen many rise and fall, a few of them tributes in Arenas of my own design.

My first year as Head Gamemaker was the One-hundred Forty-sixth. I was sixteen, and had just finished climbing the chain of command, which had taken me two years. At only fourteen, I was under an apprenticeship through my father, who, at the time, was the Head of Terrain Research. But I didn't want to be some member of some boring research team! I wanted to be the big boss, second only to the President himself.

The previous Head Gamemaker, Terold Nolade, never saw it coming. After being his obedient puppy for far too long, I was promoted to Assistant Head Gamemaker, a place of high honor and prestige. He trusted too much, and at the close of the Games of Wheat Miller, he fell ill at the Victor's Banquet.

"Sir, Alpha team A has secured the area. No disturbance from outside sources detected." I press my hand to my ear, where my V-Com device had been surgically implanted on my tenth birthday.

"Very good Alpha. Remain positioned until the end of the ceremony. That will be all." I say.

"Yes sir." Is the only reply.

I stand in the Games Control Center, in the same dark grey robes that had been worn by the previous nine Head Gamemakers. The men and women around me all wear purple, blue or white. Those in purple are the top in their various departments, the blue being the majority, those who are only the assistants of the various heads. And the boys and girls in white, the unspoiled apprentices.

"Sir! The tributes have boarded the chariots." Folla Collorta, Assistant Head of Games Ceremonies calls from across the room.

"Alright, let's hope the stylists know what they're doing. Kunai, announce them." I'm not listening for an affirmative, though I hear it anyway. I tap my V-Com, and I hear a man speaking on the other end.

"Julius, they're leaving the stables. Commence final checks." I tap off, watching the screens around me. Julius nods on one of them, his finger up to his ear. He slicks back his fiery orange hair, looking as clownish as usual. I smirk, then turn to the transparent screen labeled _District One_. The screen is growing black, indicating that the chariot is starting to roll out.

Kunai's voice rings through the room, though I know it is being electronically changed before it reaches the speakers in the stands outside. "Ladies and gentleman, your tributes from District One!"

The crowd roars as the first tributes clop down the runway. The sacrifices from the Luxury District are all smiles, waving at the crowd. The girl, Malaya, is dressed quite luxuriously, like all District Ones. Her white dress is without straps, and a miniskirt lies under the much longer, flowing translucent one that billows around her. The bodice is covered in swirls of garnets, hailing to her name. Her hair is elaborately braided, also adorned with the jewel, turning her hair into sparkling fire. Her matching earrings and bronze makeup give her the fierce look of a Greek warrior princess.

Marcus is also dressed for a Greek romance movie, as he is shirtless, a grim set to his face, and a line of sparkling rubies encircling his throat. Both men and women in the stands are throwing roses at him, along with declarations of love, but he ignores them. His leather skirt barely covers his groin, and the straps on his leather sandals criss-cross all the way up to his knees. A laurel wreath is set on his head, and he has some added props, too. In his left hand, constantly bumping Malaya, is a Spartan's helmet, the lower rim suspiciously consisting of more rubies. In his right, leaning out of the chariot, a spear, the blade covered in more bloody gems.

"District Two!" I hear Kunai from his station.

The Twos are certainly unusual this year. They're costumes are surprisingly similar, and I recognize the outfit design from what my tutors had taught me about Ancient World History. But what were they called?

The tributes' outfits both appear to be crafted from some type of beige stone: which I infer to be clay. Small squares of the substance, bolt-like fasteners holding them together, cover the entire torso of each Two. At their chests, a gap in the strange armor begins, looking as if it was cut with precision. The citizens in the stands all swoon, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it's not from the tributes' necks or strategically exposed biceps…

While the torso appears to be rigid, heavy and uncomfortable, the lower garments must be a relief to the tributes. Each wears a skirt, made of a flowy cloth, one that only barely reaches their kneecaps. I'm pretty sure the tributes are trying to make sure they stay decent, as they are leaning forward on their stone spears.

But what in the name of Panem are they supposed to be?

"District Three!"

The stylists for the Threes, Dulce and Rajga Emory, are honestly lacking their usual… pizazz, this year. Usually, the cousins throw together great displays of light, sound, and holographics. In the final year of my predecessor's reign, they made the tributes defy gravity, floating above the heads of the horses. The people loved Three that year, lining up to give them anything they needed. Of course, that didn't help little Katie Marue, who, through her tears, took a javelin to the neck in the bloodbath.

But this? I mean, I understand that I can't expect them to be _that_ fantastic every time, but, really? I sigh. At least the Capitol's still roaring in approval.

The boy, Cordin, is in a black bodysuit, Infiniti in a black dress. The costumes are tight, but nobody really notices, I think. The main attraction are the many veins encircling the tributes, and overlapping each other. Appearing as if they had been woven into the fabric itself, they flow from place to place, flashing from Three's seal to that of Panem, to the names of all the other tributes, to portraits of their Victors. As they take their place in the City Circle, Beetee Latier appears.

"District Four!"

Eleika Sterapho and Ariellana Gracia haven't changed their style for the Opening Ceremonies since their first year working together, and while that usually bores the Capitol audience, it hasn't stopped four of their tributes from coming home, two of them at the tender age of thirteen.

Jasper Blue, an honest surprise in this year's Games considering how early he had Volunteered, is in a blue Roman toga, a coral-colored sash around his waist. His facial hair has been grown into a full-on black beard, as has his hair, so that it flows behind him, looking a fair bit messier than was probably intended. A golden crown rests atop his head, and a silver chain, what I recognize to be his District Token, hangs from his neck.

Esmeralda Dawn, his District Partner, is dress quite similarly, in the blue toga and reddish-orange sash. It seems to be a little looser on her, however, but I'm certain that that was intended. She wears a golden tiara, matching Jasper's, and her look of intimidation excites the citizens around her. Pearls are woven into her black hair, making her seem like a goddess.

Come to think of it, that's probably what the stylists were going for.

"District Five!"

Poirella Storma and Tamera Deit have come up with a variety of things in their three years working together as the stylists for District Five. _Power_ includes a lot of things, from water and air to cow dung and walking. This general idea has given the ladies a fair bit more to work with than most other Districts, whose trades limit their creativity and spotlight. This year, the women have gone with _fire_ , which I must say surprises me slightly, after all the mayhem that the theme caused around the Third Quell.

Devon Rose, Poirella's tribute, is in a dark, nearly blood-red dress, with long extensions to the arms, shoulders and back that flow behind her, the light giving the illusion of flames. Orange and red makeup darkens her golden features so she looks almost like an angry fire nymph. Her brown hair has fiery rubies and garnets sewn into it, giving yet another illusion of flames.

Darius Line, however, is quite different, with him being in a smoky grey suit. Emphasis on the _smoky_ , of course. The whole suit has swirls of different shades of grey, looking as though he is surrounded by the polluted oxygen a fire releases. Then, with a start, I realize that he _is_ surrounded by smoke, or steam, or something. The thin tendrils curl and sway in the night air around him, and I can't help but be slightly amazed.

"District Six!"

To be honest, I feel bad for the Sixes in most years. Their stylists for this year, Crescent and Alarius, honestly haven't outdone themselves, or their predecessors, in any way, shape or form. I groan internally as giggles and jeers arise from the crowd outside.

Young Jetta Carter's costume makes her look like, what I assume is supposed to be a train. Crescent apparently thought it a good idea to paint every inch of her body silver. She's wearing a leotard, in the same matching silver, thin straps loose on her thin shoulders. The only things not silver on her body are, for some strange reason, a black skirt that appears to be made out of spare tires, and the headband, which are, disturbingly, decorated with twin headlamps, powered up and blinding people wherever Jetta looks.

Aran Quade's outfit is less bizarre and even less original. He's dressed up in a conductor's uniform, like far too many others before him. In an attempt to match Jetta, his vest and slacks are grey, his dinky little hat a slightly darker shade. The white flannel shirt under the vest is covered in grime, Aran's face and hands covered in the grease and dirt. His expression is one of grim determination, yet I can see the flicker of fear in his eyes.

"District Seven!"

Javon Jueg and Ryaldo Peters really haven't done anything interesting for this year. Like, really, I've seen them dress their assignments in glowing trees that dazzle and shine, or as little elves with sparkling runes adorning their bodies like living, writhing tattoos. Before they were assigned to Seven in the One Forty-Third, they had given Six their first Victor in twenty years. Their first Seven even won. But this year, well… I'll have to talk to them about their dismal performance.

Kenzi, the beautiful, renowned model from the Lumber District is in a dress. I suppose that's what she normally wears, but this dress isn't glamourous or even double-take worthy. Nothing like the pearly wedding gowns or the revealing slips Capitolites goggle over. No, this one covers her whole body other than her hands and head, and appears to be made entirely out of leaves. The bulky material, much to the crowd's dismay, shows them nothing worth seeing. Her shining blonde hair has been pulled up, pinecones woven into the luscious strands.

Logan is also dressed in the same, er, natural material, though they form a crinkly green and brown suit. His darker hair has been left ruffled and messy, and while it's slightly charming, it is, perhaps, too wild. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I hear gasps from the Gamemakers around me, and I look back up. Sighing in relief, I watch in joy as both tributes' natural costumes fall away, the dead, brown leaves getting into the eyes of the Eights behind them. Suddenly, Kenzi is wearing a leafy, two piece swimsuit, and the crowd erupts in cheers. Logan's outfit has also transformed, into nothing but a pair of short shorts, showing his tall figure and various muscles.

"District Eight!"

Bubble Venisio and Aeliana Namone, the seasoned stylists for District Eight, have never really shined in the Tribute Parade, a trend that they're continuing today. There isn't very much that you can work with when it comes to the Textile District, but the stylists do their best to garner support for their tributes, regardless of how long it's been since they actually, well, won.

Tulle Salane, the girl who wasn't fooling anyone with her confidence when she was Reaped, is dressed in a long beige dress, patches in various materials and colors all over the spectrum. Her strawberry blonde hair is a rat's nest, looking as though she had just woken up from a century-long nap. Henry Reynoso is quite similar, his black hair sticking up in odd places, his terror showing on his face. His brown t-shirt is filthy and ripped, and his beige yoga pants are patched up like Tulle's dress. They look homeless, something from the slums of the lower Capitol. Grime and dirt cover the tributes from head to toe, and I can hear a few nervous giggles from the Head of Arena Wildlife.

"District Nine!"

Harmony Whittaker and Julian Mantup dressed the Nines up the way most had expected after hearing the boy's name. Thanatos was a god of death in the Greek myths, something the stylists obviously realized once he'd been Reaped. They tailored the costumes to Mr. Rize instead of Miss Miller, and I assume it's because Wheat's costume had been fixed to him.

Thanatos has been dressed up in a long black cloak, one which swirls in the chariot's wake. The cloak covers everything but his unnaturally pale hands, looking ghastly in the artificial light blanketing the Avenue of Tributes. Like Marcus, his right fist is wielding a weapon, one which is unusual as a practiced tool outside of Nine. The scythe's blade is a gleaming silver, contrasting the black staff it's attached to. Overall, quite terrifying, really. As I watch, he removes the hood, showing his near translucent head. As the cameras zoom in, I notice the blue veins crossing his skull.

Harvest's costume is really quite similar. Her black dress dances through the air like Thanatos' cloak, and the pigment in her arms and face have been altered to match her District partner's skin tone. Her hair has been dyed to look as though it's in the middle of decay, and her face has been painted to resemble a skull. Clearly, she's supposed to have been taken by Thanatos, or Death. Her skeletal face is glancing around in fear, and I can't help but notice how nervously she looks at her District partner. That should be fun to play with.

"District Ten!"

Ten's stylists, Michayla Kelly and Duxxy Mellows, haven't really strayed that far from the generic idea usually given to the Livestock District. The Tens are usually dress as cows, whether on fire or whatever, pigs, sheep, or any other animals, ranchers-slash-cowboys. Honestly, the tributes from Ten can be guaranteed the same type of costume year to year.

This year, both tributes are dressed as cowboys. Or, you know, cowboy and cowgirl, to those who find the word "cowboy" extremely sexist. Both Cheyenne Bruno and Denny Rico wear literally the exact same thing. Each has a cow print top and matching pants. A leather vest. Turquoise tie. Fiery belt buckles, though the smoke is making their eyes water. Each has a golden cowboy (or cowgirl) hat upon their head, and Cheyenne's dark brown hair is heavily braided, one braid falling on either side of her head. Denny's wild black hair peeks out from under his hat. Both tributes are hollering half-heartedly to the crowd, though they're holding each other's hands with an insane amount of force.

I tap the receiver in my ear and say in a soft, confident voice, "President Snow, it's time." As I resume watching the screens, I see him step out onto the balcony of the President's Mansion out of the corner of my eye.

"District Eleven!"

I am unsure whether or notAdriel Mirro and Janiya Elivanah, the stylists for Eleven, were happy with the Quell rule for this year. Their tributes are both only thirteen, but the costumes they're wearing seem to be the type usually reserved for pretty, muscular eighteen-year-olds. The costumes are a bit on the skimpy side, if you know what I mean.

A page must have been ripped from the Sevens' book, because both tributes are wearing nothing but vines covering their private parts, and they're visibly shivering in the cool summer air. Thorn's waving to the crowds, a wide grin on his face. Willow, on the other hand, seems as though she's trying real hard just to keep her balance, her teeth clenched and her knuckles white. It's not too bad, and my smile only grows as another idea's plucked out of the minds of Javon and Ryaldo.

About half way down the runway, the vines begin to swell slightly, small purple and green balls rapidly growing and falling from the tributes, littering the runway behind the chariot. The vines begin to lengthen, until Willow is suddenly standing in a green and purple dress, a laurel wreath wrapped in her wavy brown hair. Thorn is now in a suit of the same colors, a twin wreath snaking its way around his curly black hair. The crowd roars in approval, and I catch a small smile from the President on another screen.

"District Twelve!"

Ephialtes Bruin and Tara Quince, the stylists for Keola Foeba and Soot Maloy, haven't dared stray as far from the norm for the Tribute Parade, nor has any other Stylist from that District for that matter, since the events leading to the death of Cinna Ghettos, the stylist for Katniss Everdeen and former rebel. Most years, the tributes had been naked other than being covered from head to toe in coal dust. Thankfully this year is different, though not much better.

Keola's dress is made entirely of yellow feathers, the dress itself barely reaching her ankles. The strapless dress is rigid, and appears to be quite heavy. Judging from her expression, it's taking all of Keola's will power to not fall. Soot's costume is made of the same material, only in the form of a bright yellow suit. He seems to be faring better then Keola, as he can actually manage a slight smile and waves to the crowd. It appears to me as though they are meant to be the canaries in one of their coal mines, pawns slaughtered for the safety of others. I suppose Twelve's stylists _really_ don't want to appear as rebellious in any way.

Were birds really a good idea, though?

"District Thirteen!"

The stylists for Thirteen, Willow Reynolds and Kardashia Owens, have honestly done fairly well this year, considering what little they really have to work with. Having young tributes never really allows most stylists to show the angle they were hoping for, no matter how much time they had to prepare for it. On top of that, having the Thirteens is rather difficult. I mean, honestly, they're graphite miners. Without completely copying Twelve's designs, they're basically on their own.

Sparky Montgomery, the more than slightly insane boy and my youngest tribute this year, is looking rather small in his costume. The boy is wearing a golden kilt, one that seems to make him sway slightly as he tries to keep upright. His chest and abdomen are bare, save for the many amulets and gold chains dangling from his neck. His eyes are lined in black, and he's wearing a nemes crown, which I'm sure would look downright funny if he was still wearing his glasses. He's giving small waves to the crowd, a crazy grin on his face.

The young Volunteer, and likely Maverick for this year, stands next to him, wearing an expression of grim determination. Her eyes, also lined with kohl, are continuously glancing up at the President, who is watching her with slight interest. She's wearing long, white robes, a golden sash wrapped around her waist. Her headdress consists of a light blue head band and a short white veil, flowing behind her. Her strawberry blonde hair has gold and turquoise beads woven into it, and bracelets adorn her wrists. She reminds me of yet another myth, but I can't decide which.

* * *

 **Quick note, I worked _WAY_ into the night to complete this. You're welcome.**

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know: (Remember. You can change who it is up until the Private Sessions)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 114**

 **dreams and desperation: 95**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 88 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female)**_

 **Jaybird8101: 77 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female)**_

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 70**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 68**

 **JaymanRepublic: 65**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 64**

 **MeganCK: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **caitiebug007: 53 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **roses burning: 85**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **InfiniteDespair: 56**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 56**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Careers: Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (88 points): Denny (10), and Cheyenne (10) (88).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Loners who will likely get alliances eventually: (I cut out ones that have been asked for an alliance. That doesn't really make them invalid. Most, if not all, details will come up in the 1** **st** **day of training. Probably)**

 **Cordin (3) (unspecified)**

 **Darius (5) (unspecified)**

 **Devon (5) (unspecified)**

 **Aran (6) (depends)**

 **Jetta (6) ("definitely an alliance")**

 **Logan (7) (yes)**

 **Tulle (8) (probably)**

 **Thanatos (9) (rather not, depends)**

 **Harvest (9) (any and all)**

 **Sparky (13) (unspecified)**

 **Rebelle (13) (none)**

 **Questions!:**

 **What'd you think of the chapter?:**

 **Any predictions for training?:**

 **Anybody you'd like to hear from soon?:**

 **Anything you'd like to see?:**

 **Thoughts on my Head Gamemaker?:**

 **What are the Twos?**

 **The Thirteens?:**

 **Which District(s) do you think the submitters completely agreed on a costume?:**

 **You'll hopefully hear from me again in the next week,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	18. Before the Storm- Post Parade

**Greetings, tributes and writers/readers, and welcome to… the first night in the Capitol. I'm sure most were sure that training was the next chapter, alas, I, for some strange reason, want to write about the tributes one last time before their resolves and innocence change for the better or the worse. So there ya go, sorry not sorry.**

 **Reviews!**

 **roses burning: Everything's good now, thanks! I'm happy to hear that I did a good job on the descriptions, it took forever to get them done. Thanks for the review!**

 **Jaybird8101: I'm glad you liked the chapter, thanks!**

 **In TranscendentElvenRanger's** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my District One female tribute, Atalanta Bliss, is a confirmed survivor of Day 8 (Part One), with 2 kills. She's made the Top 12, HALLELUJAH! However, I don't like what I think is about to happen…**

 **I do not own the Hunger Games. Period. Quit asking about it. Oh, you didn't? Well you should, you bully chickens.**

* * *

Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1

District One Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The crowd's still roaring even as the chariot containing the Thirteens rolls to a stop. I look around at the insane populace, the bright colors and flashing lights nearly blinding me. I bare my teeth at them viciously, playing the part that had been elaborately shaped for me as a child. To my ears, they suddenly sound louder, and I look at one of the coverage screens to see Marcus and me staring back. We raise our hands in unison, and the crowd cheers.

Suddenly, however, all is silent, and I look up to see a very proud and strong man standing at the podium, his hands held up, silently asking for attention. The man, who I recognize to be President Snow, is smiling down at his tributes, his honored guests. As his eyes sweep over me, I feel a slight chill, whether from excitement or the crisp, cool air, I am unsure. The ridiculously thin dress that Antoleenia threw me into really isn't made for the Upper Capitol's cool summer nights, and I feel goosebumps begin to take shape on my arms.

The adrenaline from the Parade gone, I look up into the face of the handsome, black-haired man whose Games shall bring me glory.

He lowers one hand, allowing himself to use the other for hand gestures. "Welcome, tribute and bystander alike, to the Opening Ceremonies of the One-Hundred Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games and Sixth Quarter Quell!" The crowd erupts again, and I can imagine my home District mimicking them. The young President soaks in the cheers for a moment before raising his hands again. "The Hunger Games, as you all know, were devised a century and a half ago by our forefathers to bring peace to a rebelling people." He continues, "And as a result, we have had nothing but peace for generations."

I hear a slight snigger to my right, and I look past the Threes to the Fives, where the boy has an angry grin on his face. I can't help but think, _What's_ his _problem?_

"As was also written by the men who surrendered their peace to us, a twist was declared, one that would be put into effect every twenty-five years. This, the Quarter Quell, has never failed to bring honor and grace to those who participate, as well as their families, their friends, their Districts. Each Quell Victor has made history for their Districts, as I'm sure this year's Victor shall continue with _vigor_." He presses slightly on the word, and I can't help but wonder whether it means anything or not.

"A Victory from District One, from Malaya Garnet or Marcus Caelum, would give the District their fourth Victor since the turn of the century. Not to mention, to mark the 75th anniversary of the Third Quell, where their own Victor, Gloss Xerces, stepped out of the Arena above twenty-three other Victors. Quite the milestone." I stand with pride and desire, knowing that that title can be mine in only a short few weeks, an honor my District chose me for. I'm rather glad he didn't mention the threatened doom of One's training centers being so close, after five decades and only three Victors.

"Two, of course, could have three Victors in a row, a feat the Games have never seen before. I expect great things from Mason Lepodolite and Cassia Maurise. District Three, of course,-" He continues to remind the audience of what each District can gain from these Games. Eight can have its first Victor in over half a century. Ten can have its youngest Victor ever. Thirteen can have its second Victor ever. Nothing really as great as what the Careers will be fighting for, but at least _something_ great is bound to happen this year.

"But now, Panem, we must say 'goodnight' to our tributes, as they have a great many busy days ahead of them, and we have a night of partying to attend to. Farewell tributes!" He calls after us as the horses pull us back to the Tribute Center.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

* * *

Soot Maloy, Age 13, District 12

District Twelve Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I am more than relieved when I feel the chariot roll to a stop for what is hopefully the last time tonight. Keola and I turn shakily and hop out, and I flinch when Keola falls flat on her face. Before I have the chance to help, however, Ephialtes and Slatia, her stylist and mentor, do that for me. Keola is shaking in, from the cold, I assume, and Ephialtes looks up at me with a glare. I only stare blankly at him as I hop out, and I swivel my head around in a search for Tara and Coal, my own stylist and mentor. They're nowhere to be found.

Sighing, I turn back to Keola and her team, but they've gone too. Slowly, I climb back onto the chariot, taking notice for the first time of all the blinding flashes of light surrounding me, and it's difficult to look through the throng of people. Finally, I catch sight of a figure cloaked in yellow, being led to the doors of the Tribute Center. Looking again for my stylist, I moan in frustration. This crowd could kill me before I ever reach that stupid Arena.

I hop back down onto the weathered, dry, _stable_ pavement. The Capitol reporters and Tribute enthusiasts are pressing in all around me, asking me for my opinions on the other tributes and what my chances for the Games are. As I make my way to the massive building before me, I learn that my chances for the Games, in the eyes of the populace, are very slim. It terrifies me slightly to find out that I've been predicted to place 24th out of the 26 tributes, ahead of Keola and the boy from Thirteen. I'm also startled when I'm asked about my given odds, which place me at 52-1.

After what feels like forever, I break through the doors of the Tribute Center, where Capitol Security is doing its best to keep the excited fans out. Ahead of me, I see the tributes from Six, escorted by their entire crew, making their way toward a small blue sign hanging from the ceiling, one that reads: _elevator._ I follow a few paces behind them, making sure that I'm not invading their space. At the end of the room, opposite the doors, a metal panel in the wall opens up, and the Sixes step inside, whispering quietly to each other. I reach them when someone I cannot see calls out, "Team Six only!"

With a slight _beep_ , the doors close and my way up has disappeared.

As I stand there, hoping against hope that the doors will open again, will magically take me to the people who don't treat me like an opponent, but an ally, someone familiar, I feel a sudden presence on either side of me. My heart pounding, I look up.

To my horror, I see the giant man from Two to my left, and the pretty woman from Four on my right. Both tower a foot and a half above me, and both are staring down at me, slight smiles on their faces. Looking into their eyes, I see images of blood and bone, flesh and brains, the field surrounding the Cornucopia. I hear the screams of the slain, the young and the doomed, many fallen Twelves and Sixes and Eights, who never survive for long. Their blood spilled by the swords and maces held by people like these.

I'm still staring up into the faces of the Careers when Esmeralda speaks. "Soot, right? From Twelve?" I nod meekly, worried that any slight movement might set them off, that Four might rip my throat out, that Two may wring my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Two raise his hands, and I brace myself for death.

But it doesn't come. Two gently presses my shaking body into the wide open trap of the _elevator._

"We have a proposal for you." I whimper slightly as the doors close, where the Sevens look at me in pity.

After a moment of silence, I've finally gathered the courage to speak. Before I can, however, a high voice speaks from above the massive Careers and I, "Floor Two! Have a lovely evening, Mason."

Doors open behind me, and Mason gently shoves me forward into the darkness. My footsteps resound through the room, making me think it must be small, like a closet or something. I see Four's silhouette follow us into the dark room, and I groan miserably. Suddenly, the lights are on, revealing marble.

Seriously, the floor is made up of remarkable white marble tile, marble panels in the walls, marble pillars in each corner, marble benches and lamps. I had to shield my eyes, not so much from the sudden light as from the brilliance and purity of the stone around me.

Mason, unfazed, guides me to the bench on our left and sits me down. He and the girl from Four take the opposite bench, a slightly hungry look in their eyes. I shift uncomfortably, incredibly nervous under the heat of their stares. After an eternity, Four speaks.

"Do you have an alliance, Twelve?" She asks timidly. I shake my head, and she continues, "I didn't think you would, it's a little early for that. Twelve, we, that is, Mason and I, have a bit of a problem. You see, my District partner will not be joining the Career alliance this year, and as such we have a hole. An alliance needs a nice, crisp number that doesn't give any one individual power over another."

 _She's going to kill me, she's going to kill me_.

"And we haven't spoken with the Ones yet, though we're already unsure of the boy. We, that is, the Twos and myself, saw his reluctance to join Malaya on stage. We are worried that he may be untrained, unqualified."

 _They're going to have One kill me, to prove himself._

Mason speaks up, "On top of this, of course, one runs the worry of not being able to, well, _eat_ in the Arena. Since Mera isn't good with such things," Four looks at Mason quickly, then back at me, "We'll need someone to help us provide for the, um, Pack."

 _He's not saying-_

Mera rolls her eyes. "Twelves know how to survive, we've figured that much. So here's the deal." _It's actually happening!_ "Would you, little Twelve, like to join with the Career pack this year?"

My answer is instantaneous, and the tributes before me give a small jump of surprise.

"Yes!" _My odds aren't 52-1 anymore._

* * *

Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

District Seven Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I can't help but worry for the poor boy from Twelve. His killer could very well be in that elevator. That kind of information, by the look on his face, has already registered to him.

Not that I could help, though. They could have snapped me as quick as they could him. My odds in the Games are slim as they stand, a target on my back really wouldn't be doing me any favors.

"Ay, Logan, wait up!" I hear from behind me. I spin on my bare left heel, wincing slightly as the rough carpet digs into the skin. I feel goosebumps begin to form as a final gust of cool, night air slips through the door behind Kenzi and the rest of District Seven's team. I look at them hopefully for my mentor, Lily, but I can't see her. She must be in the room.

"Gee, you'd think I'd be used to walking through such crowds by now, I guess not?" She giggles slightly as she steps toward me, her arms behind her back. I see the glint of triumph in her eyes and bend backward, thankful to my legs for having the ability to support and guide such a sudden change in stature. I see the pie fly over me, and I feel a smirk make its way into my expression. That's the third one I've avoided today.

A high pitched scream echoes through the room from behind me, and I'm not even standing straight when I see both the prep teams in a pack with what I can only assume is another, apparently fighting over something. From their argument circle, a slight figure emerges, covered in the gunk of Kenzi's pie, and her dress sparking and sizzling. Kenzi's giggles are cut short as the girl looks our way, shooting a red-eyed glare through the tears. She boards the elevator, sitting open and empty, and presses something out of sight.

Before I can make sense of anything, even realize who the heck the girl is, I see the blur of my District partner rushing past me to the girl. "Kenzi! What're you doing?" I call after her, my legs finally kicking into gear. She ignores me, and I make it to the doors just as they are closing behind the girls. I pound my fists against the slabs of steel, and I'm not surprised at the sting in my hands. I don't care, though.

 _Her eyes were_ RED. I think in shock, _what is_ wrong _with that girl?_

As I regain my senses, I can suddenly hear the arguing from my left, where the girl, ( _where was she from?)_ had emerged. A voice I've never heard before is screaming something about expensive wiring, and I shake my head as I board the elevator in an effort to escape the noise and the flashes of cameras. As the doors close, I see Oak Teare, Kenzi's mentor, give me a slight wave, as if to say, _Yeah, I'll just wait here. Don't worry about me._

And then I remember what Oak had told me about my mentor, how she was already at the Capitol, that I wouldn't see her until after the Parade. He refused to tell me who it was, even as I begged and pleaded.

My heart pounds as I look around for a panel that would somehow tell me how to get to my floor, but none is in sight. Suddenly, a door opens up on the opposite side of the ones in which I had answered, and an alarmingly pleasant voice chimes, "Floor Seven! Have a lovely evening, Logan."

Hesitantly, I walk through the doorway and into darkness. As the transport device thing closes behind me, the lights come on, and my vision is a white blaze of nothing, at least for a moment. Once adjusted, I find myself in a small sitting room with two maple wood benches and a strange green floor, as well as tall electric lamps, from which the light is flowing. The floor, upon closer inspection, is, in fact, _grass_.

On the opposite side of the windowless room, massive, redwood doors stand. I step forward, listening to the slight _crunch_ of the grass, and push them open.

As I step into the much larger room, I can't help but notice the massive _tree_ , who's trunk dominates the area. The trunk, obviously meant to be redwood based off the size, is a dark brown, with thick branches that twist around, the way a yew tree might. The branches form a small staircase to my right, and I can see that _pine cones_ have been randomly scattered along them. I chuckle slightly at the idiocy of the Capitol, before climbing them.

At the top, I find myself on a large platform, a dome of willow branches restricting the mere idea of seeing what might be outside of this bizarre tree. The trunk still stands in the middle of the landing, upon which a table and six chairs, all made of random, hand carved wood, stand right before me. On the opposite side of the tree, I see yet another sitting area, with more wooden benches, side tables and lamps. The floor is still a brilliant sea of green.

"So you're Logan, huh?" Near the sitting area, the willow branches part, revealing a brightly lit tunnel. A woman steps out, her long blonde hair streaked with red and brown, her face pale as moonlight and sunken. Her grey eyes are dull, her face expressionless. "I've heard you've got potential." She tells me.

As she walks toward me, her eyes calculating my figure, I try to remember. I know I've seen her before, that I've even heard her voice, but where? She steps behind me as I continue to wrack my brain.

I am interrupted by the simpering voice that bade me a good night earlier, though this time it spoke, "Mister Woodson, Miss Jeng, Oak Teare has arrived."

As the woman circled back in front of me, she said, annoyed, "Very good, took them long enough."

"Lily?" Oak calls from the far off, "Is Kenzi here?"

"Shouldn't she be with you?" Lily Jeng, the Victor of the Fourty-Second Hunger Games, District Seven's third Victor, mentor to two other Victors and murderer of four children snaps back.

* * *

Keola Foeba, Age 13, District 12

District Twelve Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"Thank you so much again, Cheyenne, you've no idea how much this means to me. See you tomorrow!" I call as I board the transport machine, waving goodbye to my new allies. I still can't believe that I've found an alliance on the first night! Maybe, just maybe, I can actually go home.

The doors close, but only for a moment. Before I know it, a light voice calls out, "Floor Twelve! Have a lovely evening, Keola." And the doors open again, so I step out. The room I'm in is small, but it's the same size as the Tens'. Except everything is black, as opposed to the hides and furs that floor Ten had. It must be based upon the District occupying the floor.

Shrugging it off, I push through the solid black doors on the opposite wall, and I jump in surprise as Coal comes barreling toward me, obviously drunk off his rocker. I freeze in fear, when a slightly smaller figure smashes into him. They both go toppling to the floor, fists flying and cries filling the air. Finally, the unfamiliar figure, a teenage girl with short, fiery red hair smashes a vase into the side of the Victor's head. He goes limp, and the woman plants a kiss on his cheek.

She stands up, shaking her head. After contemplating the older man's spread-eagle figure, she turns to me. Her bright green eyes seem to burn, her pale skin reminding me of that terrifying boy from Nine. She has a smile there, though, and I relax slightly.

"So. You're Keola then?" She asks kindly. When I only nod, she gives a high-pitched laugh. "Nice to meet you, dear. I'm Slatia, ever heard of me before?"

Suddenly it clicks, and, through a sudden burst of confidence, I speak. "You won the Eighty-Second, right? You won by… actually fighting." I hesitate at the last part, painfully aware of just how many Twelves were not much more than _lucky_.

Acting as though she hadn't heard my last comment, she asks, "Are you hungry, Keola? The food's ready. You spent so much time with the Tens that it's growing cold. And we both know that Indigo will have my hide if you don't eat properly."

Before I can respond, Indigo Pearl, our escort, stalks into sight, still wearing that ridiculous bird cage on her head. "I will not have you filthy Twelves making me look bad in my first year. If all goes well, I might be able to escort a Victor before I'm too old for this job! And take care of that pathetic excuse for a Victor." She sticks out her chest, looking as snobby as usual and pointing at Coal in disgust, but I can feel that something's wrong.

My chest heaves as the screams of tributes fill my ears. Dancing in my vision are images of beheadings, impalements, a young boy getting skinned alive until his cannon finally marks the end. Blood is everywhere, and black is coating my vision. I am vaguely aware of my legs folding beneath me, my head slapping the floor.

My final vision before everything goes black is the boy from Nine swinging a hatchet at my neck, a broad grin on his face.

* * *

Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3

District Three Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The nightmare is the same as always. The ground is a lot more dominant of my vision than when I'm awake, and I can see the old roads wobbling as my younger self tries very hard not to make a sound. The little girl knows that her parents are looking for her, but she doesn't want to be found. So she runs in the one direction they'd never look, where they had always told her to never wander.

She knows the place is evil, but she doesn't care.

After moments, the clean, tailored experimental lab appears, as though by magic. A pleading call can be heard, and the girl turns, lifting her hands to her face. The landscape bounces slightly: the girl is giggling. Silently, she steps back into the wide open door. This would have worried most, but six-year-olds don't really have such instincts.

The scene shifts, and I can see a small girl strapped to an operating table. She's crying profusely, calling for her mama and papa. The cloth on the table is stained yellow and red, the blue tiled floor under the table imitating the horrid picture. Everything else is a blur of blues and whites, but the brain can't remember everything, especially after eleven years.

My vision flows closer to the girl, fusing her vision as my own. After the strange room fades away, I can see myself, my teenaged legs crossed below me. There's a book in my lap. The forest floor is like a beautiful painting around me. But there aren't any sounds, no birds, wind, nothing.

Except, a twig snaps outside my vision. I look up into a person's face. I recognize her blonde hair, her look of triumph, one that I had seen as she stood on the Reaping stage. But something's different. Perhaps it has something to do with the bloody tomahawks in each of her hands.

I sit up, screaming at the top of my lungs. The blue silk covers, which I had been so thankful for the previous night, are now soaked in sweat, confining my struggling body. There's a pound at the door, and it's wrenched open by a boy, younger than me, his black hair wild and his glasses upside-down. He's in his nightclothes, which are a little too scary to describe.

"What's… wrong?" Matrix Volt pants. I'm still in disbelief at the extent of the Capitol's abilities.

I throw off the sheets, jumping out of bed with dignity. "I'm fine." I answer coolly, "Just a nightmare." He nods sympathetically, and quickly leaves. I quickly found that Matrix had quite serious people problems during his teenage years, something the Games had amplified. I'm fine with it, Ingrid's my mentor after all.

Grabbing the bed post, I twist my body, working out the kinks that had entered my body in the night. I hear a satisfying _POP!_ and give an involuntary sigh. Remembering the wet clothes, I quickly find my way to the shower, almost too happy to get out of that nice dress.

"So I want you both to focus on survival training today. Cordin, I want you to try to figure out some allies. Now, I know you've got three days, but it's a lot shorter than it sounds, trust me." Ingrid instructs us, a pained look on her face. We're sitting at the table, stuffing ourselves with incredibly delicious cereal, orange juice and several other amazing treats.

"Infiniti, I want you to check out your ally and look at her attributes. I need you to figure out her weaknesses, in case you need to exploit them. Her strengths, so you can learn to avoid them. You never know what will happen in the Games, but I have lost too many tributes to deceit and treachery." I nod, aware of just how fast this is all happening. I mean, we just got here, and we're already jumping right into the swing of things. It worries me on how close the Games really are.

"That's right." Matrix speaks up, for the first time since he had checked on me earlier, "While allies are important, many tributes make the mistake of giving full trust to another. You need to figure out her character, but don't forget the other tributes. Any encounter in the Arena could be your last, and you need to have any and all possible advantages at your side. But do your best not to show your own." Ingrid nods to him approvingly, which is weird, since he is technically older.

"Well, are my tributes about ready to get their butts into gear and get to the freaking Training Center? Bubble Clearwater has just informed me that her tributes are nearly ready, and I'd like to beat them."

Harpy gives us a throaty laugh, one that's interrupted by a snort as a voice calls out, "District Three, you have a visitor: Kenzi Williams of District Seven."

Taking a deep breath, a replace my spoon in the bowl and stand up, careful to push my chair in quietly, to which Cordin chuckles breathily. Ignoring him and the slight comedy in my own actions, I turn and head toward the door.

I may have asked her, but that doesn't mean that I can totally trust her.

The Sixth Quarter Quell starts now.

* * *

 **So some of the POVs were a little short. Sorry.**

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know: (Remember. You can change who it is up until the Private Sessions)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 114**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 97 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female)**_

 **dreams and desperation: 95**

 **Jaybird8101: 88 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female)**_

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 70**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 68**

 **caitiebug007: 58 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 65**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 64**

 **MeganCK: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **roses burning: 73**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **InfiniteDespair: 56**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 56**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Queens and a Pawn: Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).**

 **Reluctance: Infiniti (3), and Kenzi (7).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (97 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (97), and Keola (12).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Questions!:**

 **Whaddya think of my new alliance?**

 **Any better names for my alliances?**

 **Tributes you'd like to see in the future?**

 **Any thoughts on Sponsorship?**

 **Is it bad that I keep changing my Arena?**

 **How many questions can you ask before it becomes too many?**

 **Anything you wanna see in the Games?**


	19. Preperation- Training Day One

**And we are here, ready to see the tributes all together for the first time. You know, technically. And I know! This is surprisingly quick for me, but I had the time.**

 **Reviews!**

 **roses burning: That's really funny, I've never had that happen before! What am I thinking of now?**

 **dreams and desperation: Glad you liked the chapter, I'll put down your Sponsorship.**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: Thanks for the review, and the Arena ideas. I've got one pretty much set, I just keep adding things and taking others away. If you'd like, I can put you down for Aran, and you can change it any time between now and the Private Sessions.**

 **Clis2339: I'm glad you liked it, I tried to make it different, considering that it's 75 years later. I'm sure we'll be hearing from Henry soon, not to worry. Thanks so much for the review!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: Thanks for the review! Don't worry about missing a few, it happens. And as much as people may not think it possible, I will allow just about anyone to win these Games, and most of my readers really love Cheyenne, so…**

 **Feedback helps me to improve my writing! Drop a review!**

 **Those who want to Sponsor, remember, you have to have your tribute selected by the PRIVATE SESSIONS! That means that you have this chapter, Training Day 2, Training Day 3, and the training scores. Once the first Private Session is up, it will be CLOSED! You don't have to be a submitter to Sponsor, and you don't have to Sponsor your own tribute. More info in my bio.**

 **In TranscendentElvenRanger's** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my District One female tribute, Atalanta Bliss, is a confirmed survivor of Day 8, with 2 kills. She's made the Top 12, and she has made me so proud!**

* * *

Tulle Salane, Age 15, District 8

District Eight Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"The Gymnasium. Have fun training, tributes!" _I think I hate that voice._ I think as the doors open silently. A slight chill forces its way into the elevator, and I can feel goosebumps begin to take form on my bear arms. I shiver slightly, and someone behind me sighs in frustration before pushing past me, making his way to the other tributes waiting for training to start.

"Sorry!" Can be heard as a flash of yellow rushes past me, desperate to keep up with her District Partner. I look at the identical nines on their backs, and wonder how one elevator ride could possibly be so quiet, even _if_ it's filled with four tributes and two escorts. I look back at my younger partner, at the apprehension on his face. I take his hand, squeezing it slightly. I'm not sure whether the reassurance is for him, or me.

Friga ushers us out, and I glare at her, noticing Nine's escort looking past me, disappointment written all over his face. Pretending I didn't notice, I lead Henry into the room, which is about the size of the factory that I submit my designs to. The comparison makes me feel homesick.

Most of the tributes are gathered around a tall, broad, pale man in a uniform similar to the tributes'. A tight top, one that doesn't inhibit flexibility, nor the ability to breath, with sleeves that reach a few inches past the shoulders, long enough so that the underarm isn't visible. The shorts reach just above a person's kneecaps, also made of the tight, stretchy material. The only difference between him and us tribute is that the trainers wear black, and they have a white picture of their specialty on their backs. Tributes are grey, with their District number.

Around me, I can see the Ones and Twos, who keep glancing at the weapons instructors and simulators with slight twitches in their figures. The Threes, Fives and Elevens, looking more at survival than anything. The boys from Seven and Nine seem eager to just get started, and the Sixes, Tens and Twelves don't seem to know what to do, though the Twelve boy seems to be standing closer to the Twos than a normal tribute would. It would seem as though we're waiting on…

Suddenly, a shout pierces the air behind me, and we all turn in the direction we all know doubt came from. A few snickers break out as the Thirteens finally arrive, the girl looking annoyed and the boy screaming at the top of his lungs. "Standing in the Hall of Fame!" He shrieks, a very insane grin on his face.

After reaching us, he calms down considerably, but the grin is still there. His partner walks around to the opposite side of the gathered, and we shift slightly in her direction. The boy's still muttering as the trainer speaks.

"Hello tributes, and welcome to your first day of training. For some of you, the stations here are no more than routine, something you've done before. For others, what you learn here could make the difference between life and death. My name is Eamon, and I'll be your head trainer. Me and my peers, who you see around the room, manning the stations, are here to help you in any way we can. No matter how skilled you are in any area, it's always wise to familiarize yourself with another. After all, knowing how to use a mace won't save you from a sandstorm, nor will a tree hut rescue you from the tribute who can use that mace.

"Today, you will have eight hours to learn everything you can. Halfway through that, there will be a half-hour lunch break, which may be used to continue at the stations. The same goes for tomorrow. However, on your third day, you will have a total of four hours, after which you will be presenting to the Gamemakers for your final score. Remember, the most skilled tribute at the end of the day is the most alive one. You may begin."

I take a good look around the room, trying to remember what Cecelia had said. She was in hiding for most of her Games, having taken only a small bag and a knife from the Cornucopia. Cecelia had suggested it to Yvonne Ghetto fifty five years ago, and she took it to heart and won. I suppose it's the best place to start.

Finding my destination, I confidently stride over to the camouflage station, not very surprised to see another tribute there. She's younger than me, with fiery red hair and pale skin. As I watch, she sticks her fingers into a bowl and withdraws them, now coated in a black substance. The trainer praises her abilities, demonstrating how to apply the poor camouflage to her face.

I decide to stand at the end of the table, away from the girl and the trainer. I'd rather see what I can do before he feel he has to tell me.

I take a look at the materials around me, thinking of what I'd want to blend in with. I decide a tree would be best, as most Arenas are comprised of jungles and forests. I begin to grab the ingredients I think I'll need. Some dirt, for the brown color, some dead leaves, some boysenberry juice, a handful of water. I carefully mix these together, careful to leave streaks of the lighter brown in the mix. Then I dip my fingers in, applying to my cheeks, chin, nose, neck, even my hair, until everything above my chest appears to be made out of wood.

The trainer gives a slight gasp, and I look over at him as he marches toward me. I can see his mouth moving, but I'm not paying attention. The girl he was working with has her back turned, and I see the thirteen on her back. She's staring at the girl from Four, who's approaching the table. She wears a smirk as she looks at Thirteen, and then her smile falters.

"What're you doing here, Four?" Thirteen asks impatiently.

"Just figured I'd have a little practice." She answers smoothly.

"The tridents are over there, Four, with your bratty Career partner." She hisses.

"Jasper is not with the Careers this year, _girl_." Four, who I vaguely remember to be called Esmeralda, sneers.

Suddenly the trainer's pushing me away to a back room, labeled _Camo Cleaner_. I fight only a little, suddenly quite interested in the event about to take place.

By the time I've finally scrubbed all the dirt off my face, the girls are on opposite sides of the room, throwing malicious glances at each other, but nothing else.

* * *

Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District 1

District One Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I wish Mason would just hurry up, the sim hog.

He's in a room designed to simulate hand-to-hand combat, with robots or mutts or whatever you choose to fight, on whatever difficulty you select. Holograms could be used, but that wouldn't teach the impact of weapon to body, which we'll see in the Arena. Slicing a sword through thin air isn't going to save your life in there, after all.

Mason chose to go with muttations, humanoid slimy ones, with webbed fingers, sickly yellow skin, and fangs. Mason also elected to go with the _Unlimited_ option, which will allow him to fight the creatures until he says he's tired. Hopefully that point is soon.

I swing the war hammer again, trying not to look stupid. I'm used to the weapon, of course, it's what I trained with. However, I don't feel very intimidating standing here with a weapon most of these tributes have never seen before. A polished block of iron, with spikes on one end for a truly gory wound. A metal handle, wrapped in leather. A mere extension of my arm.

In the simulator, Mason is visibly slowing, and I sigh in relief. He raises his sword to swing at an incoming creature, but he misses and takes its fangs to his sword shoulder. The lights instantly turn on, the mutts yelping as they vanish into various holes in the walls. Mason drops the sword at last, presses his hand into his wounded shoulder. Avoxes and training personnel alike brush past me, ignoring the deadly weapon in my grasp.

While the avoxes mop up any blood on the floor, the trainers escort Mason to the survival stations, where they apply a cream to his wound. Shrugging, I enter the room as a trainer assures me that it's ready. A keypad appears in thin air in front of me, and I put in the settings I had decided on while I was waiting.

 _Difficulty:_ Hard. _Enemy:_ Muttation. _Weapon Mode:_ War Hammer. _Light Settings:_ Midnight. _Climate:_ Rainforest. _Time:_ 10 mins.

The room dims, the only light coming from up above, slight but bright enough to see a little ways in front of me. Suddenly, I hear the scraping of claws, the clatter of bones. I have a vivid picture of the skeletal mutts from the One-Hundred Fourth, and I close my eyes, listening.

I hear claws quickly scrape the concrete floor to my left, and I spin around, swinging the hammer into the skull of the creepy mutt. A barely audible misplacement of air, and I duck back as pure white soars over me. Without thinking, I through my arm up, and the rib cage shatters around my weapon. I'm already sweating, the heat of a rainforest already doing its job.

Suddenly there's a light _beep_ , and the sound of running water meets my ears. My feet are instantly soaked as they're enveloped in warm liquid, and I am relieved to see the light reflecting off the ripples. Thin, dark shapes glide through the water, and I shiver. Reptilian muttations, the most dangerous of the bunch.

One slips between my legs, and I shudder again. The rough texture of the thing's skin is definitely not natural, but what did I expect, honestly? It's a filthy, slimy, ugly, horrific, terrifying mutt!

A long, silent shape rises out of the water to my left, and I catch a glint of fangs. I see them dart forward, and I bring the hammer up out of instinct. It connects, and an unearthly scream echoes around the room. Suddenly they're everywhere, the thick black snakes rising up, up, up, higher than I am tall. I can feel their glares, and I shake slightly. Did the room just get colder?

One lunges, and I frantically dodge it, my heart pounding. I don't recognize these mutts, and I'm not sure whether that's good or bad. There's another coming at me, and I knock it aside, toward the one I dodged. There's another scream, and I imagine the snake sinking its fangs into her sister.

Finally it's over, as the serpents recede into their holes or whatever, and the water is drained. I nearly drop the hammer, wondering what happened to my time limit. I had only said ten minutes, I must have been in there longer.

My answer is waiting outside the simulator doors, where a little boy is grinning broadly at me, his hands hovering over the keypad. He looks at my weapon, and I expect him to shrink in fear. He takes in the blood and flesh still attached to the spikes. He looks up at me, and I must have imagined the slight falter in his expression, because it's still there as he hollers, "KOWABUNGA IS THOR COMING!?"

The room goes silent, save for the long-range simulator and the Twos laughing loudly. I feel my mouth twitch, but I calmly ignore the boy, laying the weapon on the table where I found it. An avox hurries over, obviously trying to hide the smile on her face, and places it on a silver tray, hurrying back to a door underneath the Gamemakers' box. I suspect they're going to clean it.

Stalking over to the spears station, I pretend to not hear the boy skipping along behind me, humming softly to himself. The boy from Five is on the range, trying and failing to even through one of the projectiles near the dummies down range. As he reaches for another, I snatch it from under his hand, expecting him to wither in my presence. He doesn't. What is wrong with these tributes?

I settle into a throwing stance, gauging the distance carefully. Thirty meters. Easy enough, I suppose. I can hit a diamond ring from fifty.

I rear back, getting a last-second feel for the weight of the slender rod. Twisting my body around, I bring my arm forward, hurling the spear at the dummy at the other end of the range. It hits the center of the chest, right in the middle of the smallest circle.

I look around, seeing that Five has left, finally seeing that he had no real chance. I shrug at Malaya, who's stepping out of the long-distance simulator, a bow in her hand. She looks at me in confusion, before removing her quiver and placing it on the table, along with the bow. She strides over to me, sparing Thirteen a glance before picking up a javelin.

* * *

Willow Orchids, Age 13, District 11

District Eleven Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"Remember. The venom of a Devil Snare Beetle is lethal moments after it gets into your bloodstream. If properly extracted from the insect, it must not be touched without the protection of a leaf, poncho, et cetera. It can seep into your skin, and you'll be dead within hours."

The trainer tells us this for what must be the fifth time in the last five minutes, and it seems to be the only thing he can say about the creature. He has one squirming around in a small bowl, for demonstration purposes. He shows me and the boy from Nine where to properly hold it, so that you may press a sickly smelling yellow liquid out of its pinchers, without actually getting struck.

There's a loud shout from the other side of the room, followed by a loud series of _CRASH_ es, and the trainer, a big burly blond man, is distracted long enough to get himself bit by the beetle. He apologizes and runs off, worry etched into his eyes.

"Idiot Capitolite." Nine mutters beside me.

I shake my head and look over at the spears station, where the shout came from. The twelve-year-old from Thirteen has the man from One's arm, and he's laughing hysterically. One, apparently in the middle of a throw, is trying to free himself from the boy, a look of hatred on his face. To the right of the station, a rack of spears has fallen over, and I can see the girl from Twelve standing beside it, terrified.

"Again, again, again!" Thirteen screeches. The girl from One, finally jolted into action beside her partner, makes to grab the boy, and an automated voice reminds us that we're not allowed to harm the other tributes.

The boy won't let go though, and after a minute, multiple trainers abandon their stations, freeing One and restraining Thirteen. They take the insane boy to the elevators, probably to escort him up to his quarters.

"Maybe they'll lock him up!" A light-hearted voice calls from the sparring station. The girl from Four, a trident idle at her side, is laughing maniacally.

I look around the room, seeing that the other tributes are reluctant to get back to what they were doing. No doubt it only reminds them of what is to come in the next few days. Suddenly, I'm done with poisons.

I strip my rubber gloves from my hands, and survey the room again. Nine pays me no attention, as he's back to going through the books we have been provided with. My eyes land on a station where Thorn and another boy, from Four I think, are attempting to start fires with various materials. Not that they're succeeding or anything.

I approach them, but they ignore me. Four is trying to drill a stick into a log, to no effect. Thorn is attempting to light tinder with the sparks produced from two stones, struck against each other. I go to check it out.

"Hey Willow." Thorn mutters in frustration as I sit down beside him. He strikes his rocks again, and a few weak sparks leap out. "What's up?"

"Just figured I'd come try this." I say quietly, wondering whether or not it's really safe to speak out loud with Four nearby, regardless of if he's a Career or not. "May I try?" I ask.

He nods in frustration, handing me the rocks. I study them carefully, noting that the sides meant to be smashed together are, for the most part, flat and smooth. I hold the one in my left hand out, the one in my right close to my chest. I've watched many Games before, and tributes did this a lot. It can't be that hard…

As it would turn out, it is. I don't get my first sparks until ten minutes later, after Thorn and the boy from Four had decided to leave. After another half hour and a million tries, I light the dry twigs beneath me. I almost jump in delight, happy to see myself be good at something. The trainer gives a nod of approval, even as it flickers out.

I accidently drop the rocks onto my small flame, and I feel bad, but my arms sing in relief. While the stones weren't all that heavy, holding them out made my arms tired. Slowly, I reach down to pick them up, not at all surprised to see that the fire has died. It doesn't matter so much though, I can always try again.

Later.

Uncrossing my legs, I stand carefully, not wanting to get light-headed and fall over. I press my hands to my stomach, and arch my back until it pops. My vision darkens a little, and I release, blinking until I can see properly. Then I scan the room for what must be the hundredth time, trying to find something to do.

There are, of course, the weapons stations. Knives, axes, swords, all of which can be helpful and even life-saving in the Arena. But I can't kill anyone, at least, not with blood. That's why I was doing poisons earlier, to learn something lethal but without all the blood. I can't stand the sight of it, period.

But there aren't just weapons stations, or even survival stations. There's an obstacle course near the elevator, the _Gauntlets_ , as Crysta had called them. She suggested that I try them, as Quarter Quell Arenas tend to be a little shifty, and the ability to swiftly cross terrain may save me from the Careers.

As I walk over to the series of platforms, I notice that the Tens are already on the course, both of them dodging around the trainers' foam bats in an attempt to reach the finish first. The girl is much farther ahead, and I remember the recaps of her Reaping, how she managed to evade Peacekeeper forces for half an hour. It's small wonder she's so ahead of her District Partner.

"Would you like to give it a try, Eleven?" A slight, elfish trainer asks me in a high-pitched voice. I nod, and she waves me toward the path the other girl followed. "You may begin."

Turns out, this is yet another thing I need to work on.

* * *

Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8

District Eight Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The bell for lunch rings through the training room, and I wipe the sweat from my brow. I've been working on snares all morning, and I've just finished the one I've been working on for the last ten minutes. This trap is more deadly than your normal snare, as the nearly invisible twine and weights wrap around something before slamming it into the tree I based it around. It's good for catching larger game, like deer or monkeys.

Or people.

This is all still so surreal to me. Back at home, the Games were more a formality, there seemed to be no chance I'd be Reaped. Jessica and Paula made it through, after all, and so I hadn't really considered what might happen if I was Reaped. Sure there's the fact that we've dug one-hundred ten new graves in the last fifty-five years, but I wouldn't be one.

But I am one.

District Eight was actually pretty set before the turn of the century, with only seven Victors, sure, but at least we had hope. I don't want to die, but that revelation comes across my mind every day back home, it's nothing new. The Hunger Games should be terrifying, but this luxury is all so nice at the same time. It's like some bizarre dream.

I leave my snare, armed and ready. Nobody is going to come and trip it, after all, and I'd like to properly see how well I did before it's taken down. I head to the cafeteria with the other tributes, falling into line behind the girl from Six. The girl, though three years older than me, looks small and pale as she shivers, whether from the slight chill or fear of the girl from Two in front of her, I can't tell. After a moment, I get my lunch, steaming mashed potatoes and three slabs of gravy-slathered ham, and survey the room.

Velvet said that allies are a huge part of the Games, and that lunch time was the best time to find some.

I see Tulle sitting near the girls from Three and Seven, probably gathering the courage to speak to them. The Tens are sitting with the girl from Twelve. The boy from Twelve, is, surprisingly, sitting with the _Careers_. Trying to ignore my shock, I continue my search for possible allies. Not the Elevens or Thirteens, I need a protector more than someone I'd have to protect, and anyone younger than me pretty much fits the latter description. The boys from Five and Six look angered to the point of keeping everyone away, and I don't want to be babied by the mother from Five. I think I'd have to carry the Six girl around, and the boys from Seven and Nine terrify me.

Which leaves me with the mischievous-looking boy from Three, the non-Career from Four, or the Victor's sister from Nine.

Hoping I don't look as though I'm on the verge of screaming, I plop down next to the boy from Four. He looks up at me curiously for a moment, then goes back to his potatoes. I scoot a little closer along the bench, and he tenses, a mouthful of food halfway between his mouth and his tray. Slowly, he puts it down, turning to me.

"What do you want, Eight?" He asks, annoyed.

I push down the panic rising in my throat. Why is this so hard? "I saw you at the spears station today." I say hesitantly.

"Oh yeah?" He asks, "And I saw you spend most of the morning with the plants crap. What's your point, Eight?"

My spirits drop suddenly, and I have to take a moment to gather my thoughts. "I was thinking. You're not with the Careers, right?" He nods, rolling his eyes. I continue as though I hadn't noticed. "Well, allies can be essential in the Arena, and that means you don't have any. Back home, I'm one of the smartest kids in the District, and I know just about every plant and animal out there. I could help you survive, and you could return the favor by protecting me. Whaddya say?" I stop, amazed at my own straightforwardness.

Four looks me over, a smirk on his face. After a moment of consideration, he looks me in the eye. "Maybe." He says, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "However, you need to prove to me over the course of the next couple days that you'd be worth the risk. Deal?" He holds out his hand, and I take it. "Henry, right?" He asks.

I nod, and return with, "Jasper?"

He shakes his head. "Call me Blue."

We finish eating in silence, relief flooding through my body. He's less tense than he was, and I wonder if he feels the same. After the bell rings again, we dump our trays into the garbage and proceed to the training room. I head over to where my snare was, and Blue follows, looking closely at the artificial tree.

"So what's this supposed to do?" He asks, jabbing his thumb at the contraption. I hold a finger up, and grab a nearby dummy. I place it in the place a doomed tribute would stand, and trip the wire. Thick coils of rope drop out of the tree, encircling the dummy, and the weights drop down moments later, pulling the dummy into the tree. Hard.

Looking mildly impressed, Blue examines the dummy, whose grey foam shell is tainted red around the ropes, signifying injury. There's a big red blotch on the side of its head where it struck the tree, and Blue nods approvingly once he takes notice of it.

"I must say, Eight, that's quite the first impression. Maybe later you can show me something else, but I want to get some training in on the ropes course before today's over. I'll see you around, Eight." He gives me a small wave, before jogging over to the ropes course.

As I untie the dummy, I can't help but think, _This is going better than expected._

* * *

Rebelle Sunflower Rine, Age 13, District 13

District Thirteen Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

This whole shelter-making thing is ridiculous, and surprisingly hard. I'm supposed to build a small hut out of these palm fronds, one big enough to hold two people and their supplies. Using only the stupid friggin palm fronds!

The trainer keeps looking at me expectantly, as though I were some dumb lumberjack who had done this before. Well guess what? My entire District is underground! I've never seen such ridiculously sized leaves outside reruns of my mother's Games, and nobody freaking made a shelter then! If the idiot trainer would provide me with some twine, I might be able to do this.

Sighing in frustration, I kick over the half-made shelter under me, and green flies everywhere. I'm on the verge of screaming in fury when I remember where I am, and why I'm there. I'm in the presence of all the Gamemakers, in the same room as my fellow tributes. I'm here to win the Games, so I can save future generations from their horrid brutality. As a Quell Victor, I'll have a lot more influence than a regular Victor. Too bad Soldier doesn't use that, then I wouldn't have to go through this whole ordeal.

I head over to the axes station, ignoring the shuffles of avoxes from behind me. There's no guarantee a trident will be in the Arena, and I really shouldn't have chosen to train with one, so I'll need to learn how to use a different weapon. Hatchets are fairly common, and easy to get ahold of. They'll be my secondary.

When I arrive, I'm slightly angered at the presence of the girl from Eight, who seems to be fairly good with hand-to-hand. She's combatting the trainer, and I ignore them in favor of the throwing range. Various tomahawks litter the table, many covered in dents from the failures of my fellow tributes. They can be so… Sad at times.

I pick one up, a single piece of metal, the flat handle about a foot long. I get a feel for it before standing at the range line and preparing to throw. I bring my arm back, whipping it forward and releasing the tomahawk. It sails through the air, flipping end over end, spinning randomly.

It clatters to the floor at the dummy's feet, the harmless handle tapping its foot.

Huffing in frustration, I select another random weapon and throw it. This one bounces along the floor before burying itself in the dummy's shin. I continue this, each throw worse than the last, until my anger finally sends one into the right shoulder.

Slow clapping erupts from behind me, and I turn to see _her_ standing there, a malicious grin on her face.

"Very good, Thirteen." _Esmeralda_ says patronizingly. "Maybe you could actually hit something, as long as it was asleep."

"Like you could do any better, _Four_." My words drip with venom.

"Oh yeah?" She grabs an axe from the table, staring into my eyes as she steps beside me. Without looking, she whips the weapon around her body and releases it. I follow its trajectory with my eyes, and I can feel heat in my forehead as it buries itself in the neck.

"You may have Volunteered, Thirteen, but you have about as much skill as a pig. And in the Arena, I'm going to slaughter you like a pig. Understand, _little girl_?" She smiles as she walks away, and I stare daggers into her back. She has no idea what is going to happen to her in that Arena. I can't wait to slide three feet of cold steel into her stomach.

 _Just you wait, Four._

* * *

Cassia Lyra Maurise, Age 18, District 2

District Two Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I can't help but laugh as I wait for the long distance simulator to be vacated. The girl from Ten is in there with a bow, her partner and little friend from Twelve standing outside with me. I can feel their fear, but that's not why I'm laughing.

The girl from Ten, Cheyenne I think, has obviously never handled a bow before. She hasn't hit a single hologram with one of her arrows, which she reloads clumsily. A few of the holograms shoot at her, or throw things at her, making her dance around the platform like her life depends on it.

Technically, of course, that speed could potentially save her in the Arena, but her archery skills won't. Behind her, I see a holographic spearman rear back to throw, and the girl's friends pound on the glass in an attempt to warn her. She looks around wildly, and a spear sails through the air toward her. She can't dodge this one, though, and the simulator lights turn on, flashing red. She steps out, looking exhausted as she racks her bow and empty quiver.

"That was great, Chey!" They congratulate her, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she feels differently. Deciding to ignore them, I set my specifications on the simulator, and step inside. I pat the knives in my belt and vest, assuring myself of my abilities.

The lights go dark, and I can't see through the glass of the door. I'm sure the Tens are watching me, though. Not that it matters. I turn around slowly, watching for my first target. In front of me, up on the catwalk, an archer appears, an arrow already nocked and being drawn. I imagine it's my ally from One, as she's the only tribute who can actually use a bow, as far as I can tell. I aim for a cast, and flick my wrist as I throw.

I can't see the knife sailing through the air, but the string dissolves, assuring me that it has, in fact, broken it. The hologram hops down from the catwalk, swinging the useless bow around wildly. I look around, having caught sight of another hologram out of the corner of my eye. It moves around behind me, a spear in hand. I roll back, laughing as the spear hits the archer in the throat. As I stand back up, I flick my wrist and send a ten inch blade into the hologram's throat.

The sequence continues, the holographic tributes appearing and me almost toying with them slightly as I throw, dodge and stab. At one point, I'm surrounded by no less than four swordsman and a mace wielder. I take out three of the swordsmen before the mace comes crashing down upon my head. The lights flash red, and I feel around my belt again, suddenly aware that I was out of weapons anyway, save for the dagger in my hand.

I step out of the simulator, covered in sweat despite the slight chill of the room. The other tributes are shuffling over to the elevators, and I realize that I was in that simulator for a good forty-five minutes.

"I'll see you tomorrow, tributes!" Eamon calls as he enters a door underneath the Gamemakers' box.

The tributes clustered around the elevator disperse as I approach, and I feel myself cackle quietly. These little pawns are going to stand no chance under my blades. Not if they don't have the nerve to stand up to me.

I look around for my allies, and notice that they _left me_. Those no-good idiots friggin' left me behind! Even Mason, and he seemed like an honorable Career. The Ones must have talked him into it.

I press the button on the elevator, and it opens up to permit me entry. I glare at the lowly outer District tributes before they close, and the girl from Twelve flinches.

Seeing my allies as enemies this early in the Games isn't very good, but I don't really care.

* * *

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know: (Remember. You can change who it is up until the Private Sessions, in three chapters)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 120**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 110 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **dreams and desperation: 108 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **Jaybird8101: 97 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female**_ **)**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 70**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 68**

 **JaymanRepublic: 65**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 64**

 **caitiebug007: 64 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **MeganCK: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **roses burning: 76**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **InfiniteDespair: 56**

 **MushtcheNinja29: 56**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Queens and a Pawn (108 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (108), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).**

 **Reluctance: Infiniti (3), and Kenzi (7).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (110 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (110), and Keola (12).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Questions!:**

 **Favorite POV?**

 **Least favorite?**

 **Who do you think we'll hear from next?**

 **Favorite tribute of these 6?**

 **Any other thoughts on training?**

 **The Games?**

 **Ta,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	20. Will to Live- Training Day Two

**And I'm back, with another set of tributes and our second day of training! Sorry it took a little longer.**

 **Reviews!**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: It's okay, it happens. And I love Denny and Willow, I'm so excited to see them in the Arena! Thanks for the review!**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks for the review!**

 **roses burning: It warms my heart to know that you like the story. These tributes are so fun to write for, I can't have asked for better.**

 **dreams and desperation: Of course I'm obsessed with her, she's made it farther than any other tribute I've had! Thanks for the review!**

 **JaymanRepublic: Alright, I'll put you down. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Clis2339: Yeah, I was kinda excited to write for Henry. He's going to be a really fun character to write for in the Games.**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: Thanks! I really like Tulle, and I can't wait to see her in the Games!**

 **Feedback helps me to improve my writing! Drop a review! I love hearing from new people!**

 **Those who want to Sponsor, remember, you have to have your tribute selected by the PRIVATE SESSIONS! That means that you have this chapter, Training Day 3, and the training scores. Once the first Private Session is up, Sponsor changes will be CLOSED! You don't have to be a submitter to Sponsor, and you don't have to Sponsor your own tribute.**

 **Next chapter will be training day 3, and then I will post the scores. I will write the Private Sessions between now and before the scores are up, but I'll post them 3 days after the scores chapter. That way, those who aren't Sponsoring yet won't be as biased from seeing their sessions, but** _ **will**_ **see their scores, as a normal sponsor would. Make sense?**

 **In TranscendentElvenRanger's** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my District One female tribute, Atalanta Bliss, is a confirmed survivor of Day 10, with 2 kills. She's made the Top 12, and she has made me so proud!**

 **Also, I have added a new section to my weebly site. It's still under construction, but let me know what you think! Link in my bio.**

 **Also, I've realized that I've made chapters a bit long, pushing for 1,000 word POV's… I think I successfully did this one better.**

* * *

Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District 11

District Eleven Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

My fists are clenched as Eamon gives a speech nearly identical to the one from yesterday. His face attempts to show nothing, but I can see his sympathy etched into the creases around his eyes and mouth as he looks over the tributes who don't have a chance. In his mind at least.

I can tell he feels this way mostly for the younger tributes. The Tens, Twelves, the boy from Thirteen. Willow and I. He obviously wasn't too impressed with our performances yesterday, as his stare is filled with pity. I suppose I'll just have to show him, won't I?

He releases us to train, and I stand back for a moment, trying to remember where the knives trainer was yesterday. I spot him after only a moment, and I'm pained when I see the girls from Two and Five already there. Two's already combatting the trainer, but Five looks like she's going to stick around. Sighing in frustration, I walk over anyway.

I expect the girl from Five to try and engage me in conversation, but she barely spares me a sorrowful glance before looking back to Two's combat lesson. Her eyes are calculating every move, ears craned to every bit of advice the trainer presses upon the Career.

"Cassia, I know you know stronger pattern dances, but I'm the trainer and I'm near certain this one is better when defending against a bow staff."

"No. You keep leaving your left side slightly open. Don't look at me like that! You know that Mason can exploit that, no matter how much you believe he won't turn on you."

"Well now you're just being ridiculous!"

The tips and tricks seem to go on and on, until Cassia is finally finished, stalking off and muttering something about _boys_. I select a knife I recognize from a previous Games, known by its slight curve and wide blade. A kukri knife.

I'm about to step up when Five beats me to it, a long serrated dagger in hand. She looks slightly terrifying, and it's difficult to remember that she has a freaking _child_. I can't but help but wonder a little about to what lengths she'd go to get back.

To get back _home_. The word is so familiar, so comforting, yet twenty-five of the people in this very room, from the boy from Thirteen, the youngest and somehow boldest of the outer Districts, to the Careers, the skillful and cocky, will die in the coming days, weeks. Because the Capitol thinks they can do whatever the fludge they want!

My hands shake, and I roughly shove the kukri back onto the table, to rest among her equally destructive sisters. The blade cuts into my palm, but my vision's going blurry and everything's red. It's so flipping _unfair_! What did we do? The only people alive today from that stupid rebellion are a few of the mentors! Why must Panem's children continue to suffer?

My vision goes red, and I can feel my arms flailing around me, brief moments of pain and something warm running down my knuckles. A faint shout rings through the air, and it all goes dark.

I wake up in an infirmary, a dark shadow floating before my face. She seems familiar, but I'm not sure how. I blink under the gaze of the lighting, and I move my left hand to cover my face. It's heavily bandaged.

Vaguely, I hear the woman sing softly, and I think I recognize her voice. That song, something I had forgotten the words to all those years ago, is awakening a strange creature in the back of my mind.

A creature fed by the love of its mother.

* * *

Darius Line, Age 17, District 5

District Five Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

So far, something interesting has happened each training day, and I can't imagine how the Capitol will love the drama when the training footage is released after the Games. They'll see the fight between the girls from Four and Thirteen, _Marcus_ ' horrible throw yesterday, and now, Thorn from Eleven going on a rampage.

I don't know why I'm even caring slightly about my fellow tributes' names. Matt warned against it, saying it's harder to kill someone you can name. _You should try to forget Devon's too_. He had said. _Less grief later_.

But, in a way, these children are my allies. They're the enemies of the Capitol, and I would love nothing more than to see them burn. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend._

Only they can't be my friends. If they were desperate enough, and had the proper opportunity, any one of them _would_ kill me. I can't let that happen.

Which is why, despite what my mentor had told me, I'm training in a weapon that won't necessarily kill, but can leave broken bones and bruises. The bow staff, a weapon often in the Cornucopia but usually ignored, is one that I can easily channel my anger through, something even the idiot trainer has already pointed out.

"You don't usually expect someone from District Five to have the strength to throw so much force behind a five-foot rod." He said after I had swept his feet out from under him, "Most tributes won't expect that, and that kind of swing needs a lot of power to take down someone like Mason over there." He tries to gesture over to the man from Two as we spar, and I subconsciously add his name to the list of things I don't care about. Someone like Two, I can kill without much remorse. But not these children, the Tens, Elevens, Twelves and Thirteens. The girl from Nine. The boy from Eight.

They're all too young, and the likelihood of their survival is too slim to determine.

I'm not sure how long we've fought, but the trainer calls for a break after a while. I wipe the sweat from my forehead, suddenly aware of just how tired I am. I can feel the anger drain from me, allowing relief to overtake my wary arms. I hadn't realized it was so hard.

I stare around the room, contemplating. Somehow, I have been projected to place tenth, ahead of most of the tributes, before the Capitol has even seen my training score. Mason is the predicted Victor, but they usually fall around the final half, honestly. And the little boy from Thirteen is expected to die first, which honestly makes a little sense. But most of these other tributes, well, how can I beat them without becoming what the Capitol wants me to be?

How can I allow myself to even make the final ten, when I'd have to kill to get there?

* * *

Jetta Carter, Age 17, District 6

District Six Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

A small wheeze escapes my mouth, flowing through the metal tube between my hands. I can feel something scratch the inside of the tube, and a black dart flies down the range, landing itself in the dummy's shoulder. I remove my mouth from the weapon, placing it back on the rack. I really should practice more, but Railer suggested to try some more survival today, since it's likely I won't be going into the Bloodbath. I'm just too unwilling to risk losing my head, literally.

I wander around for a moment, looking for a station, (preferably with tributes I could ally with) that could ultimately save my life in the games. I decide on the poisons station, where the girls from Eight and Nine are. I remember seeing Eight there yesterday, but Nine was working with the boy from Seven in knot-tying.

Hesitating slightly, I walk over, not sure whether to speak or even make contact. It's strange, these girls are younger than me, but one seems to know what she's doing and the other is a Victor's sister. I wonder if she has any special skills…

My thoughts become slightly confused when Nine looks up, smiling at me shyly. I'm taken aback, and I look at her curiously. Her smile grows a little broader, and I give in. It's infectious.

I still stand myself a ways down the table, though, and her grin falters. She looks concerned, but goes back to extracting the nightlock juice from her berry. She's crushing it with the flat of her blade, and suddenly I see her, shoving a knife into my body over and over again, laughing as my screams choke the air and my blood soaks the earth…

Then I shake my head, forcing myself away from those horrible thoughts. _She's only fourteen_. I remind myself. _Not a ruthless killer_. _Probably_.

The trainer walks up to me, gesturing to the materials on the table in front of me. "Have you ever seen any of these?" His hand is bandaged, and I can't help but wonder what happened. I don't remember it being that way yesterday.

I look down at the table. I've seen many of these, whether in the Games or on my wanderings down the railroads. Poison ivy, nightlock, sneeze moss, yellow foxlilies. But there are some I can't name. A bright red flower, speckled in green and purple, something resembling a strawberry, only without seeds on the outside. I look back at the trainer, and reply, "Most of them. Not sure what these are though." I gesture toward the alien materials.

The man sighs slightly, seeming relieved to have to teach very little. "These are some of the basic poisons. Not all are lethal, of course, but they can be irritating to the point of losing your attention span. This flower," He carefully lifts the plant up, fingers touching only the stem, "is a tropical dragon daisy. The petals of this flower can cause hallucinations, mostly of what the victim wants to see, feel safe around. They lose all sense of reality for up to four hours. If consumed, a week at most.

"This dryberry is very lethal." He continues, "Moisture absorbing bodies in the outer skin make it feel very, well, dry and brittle to the touch. When broken open, it expels a toxic gas, though in small quantity. If inhaled, the affects can be immediate, the victim dead before he can complain about the smell." He touches it gingerly. "I haven't had these at my table since my first year, and these plants were all over the Arena. I'm not supposed to help you, Jetta, but if one falls from the bush when you're standing _near_ it, you _will_ die."

I nod my thanks, carefully examining the berry with my eyes. How could something so familiar-looking be so foreign and dangerous?

I don't want to find out.

* * *

Denny Rico, Age 14, District 10

District Ten Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

As I reach the top of the rock wall, my breath steadying at the relief, I take note of the training center below me. So many people, all of them hoping to cheat Death, trying to spend their last days alive to learn how. Like Cheyenne and I. Burdened breaths can be heard from below me. And Keola.

"Took you long enough!" A cheery voice calls from behind me. I turn, where Cheyenne is grinning broadly. Her athletic ability was renowned in District Ten, something the Capitol is loving her for. But the Careers see her as a threat, I can tell.

"I was only just behind you!" I argue, and she laughs, just as Keola breaches the top of the wall. She looks at us, her face drenched in sweat, knuckles white, arms shaking. I hurry over to help her up, and she allows me to pull her over. I look past her as I do, seeing the Twos pointing at us and jeering. Soot's looking away, his hand trying to cover his face.

I sit down next to Keola as Cheyenne whispers, "How do you think he even got into their alliance?"

I shake my head, and Keola does the same. "He told me last night about how amazing they thought he was." She pants, "How much they appreciate his abilities. I'm worried about him, though." She closes her eyes, whether thinking or resting I'm unsure. She's often doing both. "Why'd you make us come up here anyway, Chey?" She asks.

Cheyenne sits down across from us, inhaling deeply as she does so. "If we're going to be an alliance, we need to figure out how we're going to meet up in the Arena, right? And how we're going to survive." I nod, crossing my legs and listening attentively. I hadn't really thought about this before now, but it honestly makes sense. "Any ideas?" She asks.

I shake my head, but Keola pipes up. "The platforms are usually lined up in a semicircle, right? Since there's three of us, what if we met behind the middle person's pedestal, some x distance behind it? Then the other two will have to go roughly the same distance, and we don't run past the mouth of the Cornucopia?" She coughs, barely finishing her sentence.

Cheyenne and I both nod. "That could work." I say, seeing what she means. "It _is_ less risky, and we can all potentially, um…" _Make it all out alive_. I almost say. The younger girls' shoulders sag slightly.

"Now we need to figure out what we'll do supply-wise." Cheyenne says, her voice flat. "Are we going to consider going all-in, or just grab what's closest and run? Weapons or sleeping bags?" She hesitates for a second. "I'm going in." She says, and as I open my mouth to protest, she continues, "Look, it's only logical, okay? I'm the fastest of us, and if I die, I'd want you two to be safe."

"Don't talk like that, Cheyenne! If I'm going to be part of this alliance, I want to pull my own weight. I'll run in too, we can grab bags or whatever, you and I. Keola can run for the woods or wherever we are, and you and I can watch for each other, warning each other to run. Chances are, we'll _need_ those supplies. We can't afford to go without them."

"I can run in too!" Keola argues, "I'm not going to run while you two get yourselves killed! If we all go in, we can have more of the things we'll need to survive." She looks at us, and I raise my eyebrows. In the few days I've known her, she's never acted like this.

"How about this." Cheyenne starts, fingers splayed over her face, "If we all run in blindly, we all may die. So if we're near anyone that's a threat, that's the Ones, Twos, Fours, et cetera, then we just run to the meeting point, got it?" We both nod in affirmative, and Keola sighs deeply.

Somehow, I feel there's no way we're all getting through the first day alive.

* * *

Harvest Miller, Age 14, District 9

District Nine Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Wheat had suggested that I try practicing with hatchets today, and, reluctantly, I took his suggestion. I've been sparring with this trainer for the past fifteen minutes, but it's felt like longer. The trainer is constantly stopping me to give me pointers on my form, and I'm grateful, but… I really shouldn't be here.

In all honesty, it should be another girl, someone chosen by bad chance instead of having her name on every single slip of paper in the stupid Reaping bowl.

Or, at least, that's the theory. My mother had told me how, before I was born, she had, alongside my father, fought in _rebel movements_. They both worked in acts of sabotage, screwing with the rails ahead of the Presidential train, little things really. They never killed anyone.

But they have reason to believe that that was why Wheat was Reaped five years ago. But they had stopped their acts before Wheat had even come home, to protect me. That's why my mother was confused at my being Reaped, she had thought the Capitol had already claimed their price.

But Wheat knows better. He began going against my mother's wishes, fighting against the Games and everything they stood for. He thought he was the only one who knew it was him, that they wouldn't hurt me, or anybody else he loved.

And look where that got me.

The bell for lunch rings, and the trainer bows to me slightly, bidding me farewell before leaving the station. I replace the hatchet and reluctantly head to lunch, standing in line behind the tributes from Eleven. After seeing me, they turn their backs, making sure to avoid any kind of contact with me. I get myself a turkey sandwich, chips, and a glass of some dark, fizzy liquid before leaving to find a seat. Nobody's looking at me, waving me over. Not that I'd expect that, I assume they've been told to steer clear from me in the Arena, their mentors unsure of whether I've got any skills or not.

But all the stupid tables have people sitting at them, and I decide to drop myself at the one with the girls from Three and Seven. I remember working with them at poisons yesterday, though I didn't work _with_ them as much as _near_ them. At least I got a small conversation from Tulle, the girl from Eight.

The girls, who I assume are allied, look over me for a moment before going back to their conversation. Something about traps and fires. I try to gather the courage to speak to them, but I know they won't pay me any attention. I'm at least two years younger than them anyway.

I let my eyes wander around the room. The Eights are sitting with the boy from Four, though the boys are the ones actually conversing. The Careers and the boy from Twelve are causing a ruckus, as they had yesterday. Thanatos is just glaring at everyone, as usual. As his eyes meet mine, I remember his words on the train only a few days ago.

 _You will be disemboweled, stinking of blood and urine on the Cornucopia plain!_

Was that some sinister hint at his plans? Does he plan to take me down early on, giving the Capitol what they want: betrayal and pain? He was Reaped, how could he have possibly planned for this? He hasn't even gone to any of the weapons stations. How could he be so unafraid, a murderer?

But many tributes hide their skills until the Private Sessions, maybe even so far as the Arena. Might he come at me with a bloody knife? Send an arrow singing into my heart? Might he rip my hatchet from my hand and smash it into my head?

But it's not just him. Just about any tribute here can do that, in ways more horrid than they are imaginable.

I'm already losing the Game.

* * *

Cordin Bolt, Age 16, District 3

District Three Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Shelter-making is something I'm surprisingly good at, something I can fly through and still do a decent job. Then again, I come from a District of creativity, of smarts. A place where you are allowed to build, to invent. We are honestly granted more freedoms then most of the other Districts, but they wouldn't know that.

In their own Districts, they might feel that they're better off. That Three's the unlucky one, where children fall subject to crazy experiments, where we come up with incredible ideas or face death. Where we are slaves in our own homes, the gears to the Capitol's political machine. They might think themselves lucky to not call District Three their home.

Home. Where my regular life is. Where my family is. Where Zela is. Where the memories of my crazy antics are. Home.

I enjoyed my home life, really. My parents were never rich by any means, but between their work and my stunts, we got bread on the table. Usually. Binary was always kind, willing to lend me a hand whenever I needed it. Little Tabby could light up anyone's day, just by giving her little giggle. Sure, even Gadge was nice from time to time, when he wasn't being a thorn in my side. The other members of the Bolt family make up for his little laugh in the Justice Building, though.

And of course, Zela Edge. I had known Zela forever, really, and I've never known a day where she wasn't smiling, ready to make the day worth living. She'd laugh after one of our exploits, and I'd know exactly which part she was thinking about. We were always funny that way. We seemed to always know what the other was thinking, always understand thoughts before they could be converted into words.

I wonder if she's thinking about me right now, about the great times we had before I entered the Hunger Games. Will she tell her future children about me? How she knew a former tribute from the Sixth Quarter Quell? If I were to somehow come back, would things still be the same?

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. The materials I was supposed to use in my shelter lay in a crumpled mess on the floor, and I stoop to clean it up. I hear the shuffling of feet as I do, and a red-haired male avox appears, hurrying to clean up the twigs and leaves. He gives me a look, and jerks his head toward the weapons side of the room, the knives station specifically. I suppose he thinks I should get back to training.

I walk over, drawing a couple practice daggers from their sheathes on the table. I step onto the platform, and the trainer looks at me expectantly. "You ever used those before?" He asks.

I look down at the weapons in my hands. Each has a steel blade that zigzags back and forth for about eight inches, then coming to a point. I look back at him, shrugging. He nods apologetically, before guiding my arms into a stance where my right leg is behind me, supporting, and the left in front. He instructs me to hold the dagger in my right hand alongside my cheek, the left one extended in front of me.

He takes a similar stance in front of me, and, without speaking, moves.

Without pretense, he makes a stab for my throat, and I dodge back, my eyes widening. He follows me with his other weapon, and I act reflexively, using my own blade to knock his aside. He leaps forward, slashing at my neck again, but I smash his fingers with the butt of my dagger. He drops it, cradling his fingers.

"Not bad." He grins, "Now, let's work on a little more focus. I honestly could have-"

But he's cut off by the bell, signaling the end of training for the day. As the bell stops ringing, Eamon shouts, "Okay, tributes, your day is over. Proceed to the elevator and make your way back to your rooms. I will see you tomorrow, and remember, it's your last day." As he speaks, I look down at my weapon. I might not be able to fight as well, but I can probably steal from the Careers during the Games. And now's a good time to get back in the groove.

I've never stolen in such an open room, with so many people who could catch me. The trainers, the tributes, even the Gamemakers. Grinning slightly, I slip the daggers into my pockets, then make my way to the elevators.

I'm almost there when I hear a voice call from behind me.

"Mr. Bolt, would you kindly return those to the knives station?" Drat.

* * *

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know: (Remember. You can change who it is up until the Private Sessions, in three chapters)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 132 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 124 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **dreams and desperation: 121 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **Jaybird8101: 107 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 81 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District 8 Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 75 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 73**

 **caitiebug007: 70 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 68**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 65 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 64**

 **MeganCK: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **roses burning: 79**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **InfiniteDespair: 56**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Queens and a Pawn (111 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (111), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).**

 **Reluctance (56 points) : Infiniti (3) (56), and Kenzi (7).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (110 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (110), and Keola (12).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Questions!:**

 **Which of these POVs is your favorite? Why?**

 **Least favorite?**

 **Seeing any Bloodbaths yet?**

 **Thoughts on alliances?**

 **I've only one more day of training… any new alliances you want to run by?**

 **Have you checked out the new stuffs on the website yet?**

 **See you on Training Day 3,**

 **John**


	21. Are You Ready?- Training Day Three

**Here we are, with the final training day!**

 **Reviews!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: I'm glad you liked Denny's POV, Cheyenne's always fun. Thanks for the review!**

 **dreams and desperation: I know, right? It's amazed me how all of mine have previously fallen before the top half… Thanks for the review!**

 **roses burning: If you decide you want to Sponsor Dev, just let me know. Thanks for the review!**

 **TranscendentElvenRanger: Your predictions are quite realistic, I must say, though the Games are about odds. If the strongest always won, the Victor would be a Career. Every time.**

 **Clis2339: I think I may have found the drama you were hoping for. Thanks for the review!**

 **Next chapter will be THE SCORES! I will write the Private Sessions between now and before the scores are up, but I'll post them 3 days after the scores chapter. That way, those who aren't Sponsoring yet won't be as biased from seeing their sessions, but** _ **will**_ **see their scores, as a normal sponsor would. Make sense?**

 **In TranscendentElvenRanger's** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my District One female tribute, Atalanta Bliss, is a confirmed survivor of Day 11, with 2 kills. She's made the Top 11, and she has made me so proud!**

 **I swear, this chapter was the hardest one yet. I rewrote some of these four or five times!**

* * *

Devon Cynthia Rose, Age 17, District 5

District Five Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

As we're released to train, I make a beeline for the knots station, aware of how that's the only station I haven't visited yet, and how little time we have to train today. The other tributes, even the Careers, seem to have realized this, and are moving quickly to their own stations. I catch the boy from Four out of the corner of my eye, but he takes the other side of the table.

"It's your final day." The trainer starts, "What do you feel you need to learn?"

I had been thinking of my answer for this as I was writing this morning, and I answer readily, "Bowline. Mine still seems to slide whenever I tie it to something." He nods understandingly, and I remember how much Five's Head Peacekeeper looked exactly like that when he caught me carrying little Ori around. I shake it off and watch the trainer's demonstration.

He twists the rope around, his fingers getting caught at one point. He laughs, embarrassed, and finishes the knot. He hands it to me, then proceeds to see how Jasper's doing. He appears to be muttering to himself.

"Not with the Careers. Just fine. Nope, he's good. Liability, drag me down. Good with the land though. Weak, no fighting skills. Distraction? No, can't do that." I think for a second as to what might be his problem, and I remember seeing him with the boy from Eight the other day. Eight had a hopeful look in his eyes, or so it seemed.

I've noticed quite a bit about the other tributes, actually. I had thought though their strengths while waiting in line for stations, and they flash across my mind now, as I attempt to retie my stupid bowline.

The girl from One isn't comfortable with something in her alliance, which I expect to be the boy from Twelve. I don't understand why Soot's in the Career alliance, but I do know it isn't good, based on the shared smirks the others share behind his back. Darius is angry at everything, like Thorn from Eleven. But Thorn showed everyone that yesterday.

Finally, my knot isn't slipping, and my shoulders sag in relief. The boy from Four leaves as I untie it, still muttering to himself. As he leaves, I can't help but wonder why he Volunteered, yet isn't in the Career alliance. Volunteers from One, Two and Four usually fall early after refusing to be in the traditional group of ruthless killers. He should hope they ignore him.

I step back from the station, surveying the room again. There are twenty-six children in this room, all of them hoping against hope to just get back home. Each has something to go back to, to fight for. I am exactly like them, and nothing like them.

In the Games, you have to be the last one standing. That's very hard to do when you're a mother that doesn't want to take someone's child away from them.

* * *

Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10

District Ten Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The test is one of endurance more than speed, and my allies dropped out long ago. Since that point, they had stopped cheering, probably heading to another station. I understand. It's our last day, and we don't want to waste valuable time.

I'm on like my seventh lap, almost a mile if I remember correctly. The trainer said something about the second mile, but my mind is starting to meld my thoughts together. The track is starting to blur. I think I see a figure next to me, but my eyes are only seeing the white line at the end of the stretch. It's so close.

My feet pound against the track as I pick up my speed. Something sounds like a chuckle, but that doesn't make sense. _THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!_ I can feel my heart, steady yet racing my feet. Every jolt through my leg shocks my upper body, and I slowly stop as I reach the line. My breathe takes a moment to steady, then I collapse.

My body is screaming with exhaustion as I lie there, eyes closed. I feel steps on the track around me, and I feel blind and vulnerable, despite how safe I should be. Perhaps the trainer is checking up on me. I vaguely hear someone speak, and I lift my hand and wave it weakly, chuckling softly at my own exhaustion.

A hand roughly grabs mine, lifting me up to my feet. But I wasn't ready, and my momentum carries me, landing me on my stomach. I groan, opening my eyes as I roll over. My right hand burns from the friction against the track. I stare accusingly at the boy from Two as he laughs, his District Partner behind him.

"It was only half a lap, Ten." He smirks wickedly. "I didn't realize my presence would terrify you so much!" He laughs again, and I recall the figure running alongside me. He thinks I was afraid. I wasn't though, just tired.

I open my mouth to speak, using my uninjured hand to stand, but he shoves me back down, my head striking the ground painfully. He looks concerned, and says, "You really should rest. That's quite the fall you took a moment ago."

"I'm… fine." I mutter defiantly, still glaring up at them. I attempt to sit up again, my burned hand holding my pounding head. I'm in pain, and this kid is loving it. Then again, his sister's a Victor, so what did I expect, honestly?

I crawl back as the malicious grin spread across his face yet again. Will I die in the Arena like this? Tired, hopeless? He begins to step forward, when another figure suddenly steps between us. I scramble back a little quicker, grateful for the reprieve.

When I finally stand, I catch sight of strawberry blonde hair, and I see the girl from Eight facing down-or rather, _up_ \- the boy from Two. Both look angry, though I'm sure for very different reasons.

"You're not supposed to fight with other tributes!" Tulle shouts at the Twos. I can't help but admire her bravery, but I'm sure it's going to get her killed. I don't want to be part of it, even if she helped me out.

As I step off the track, I here the girl from Two, Cassia, call after me.

"District Ten is always a bloodbath, girl! Don't worry, you can rest in a couple days!"

* * *

Mason Lepodolite, Age 18, District 2

District Two Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"You know what, Eight? I hope your pedestal is right next to mine, because there's not enough room in that Arena for that big mouth of yours. You'll be the first on the kill list for this year's Victor, just you wait!" She's still glaring at me, but she's shut up for once. I smirk as I see the flicker of fear in her eyes. I love seeing that look in others.

I turn my back on her, ready to head back to the training area. Cassia stands beside me, trying to hold back a laugh.

"What?" I demand, and the smile finally breaks out across her face.

"You just got yelled at by a girl, after beating up on a smaller girl. You turning soft, Macy?" She asks tauntingly.

I don't turn to look at her, but I snarl, "I'm not in the mood right now, Cassia. I'm going to go back to swords." She laughs as I head to the station, and I'm relieved to see her heading back to her stupid knives. I can't help but wish she hadn't come with me to the track, like the others.

To my dismay, Malaya is already waiting in line, with _my_ sword. The sword that's perfectly balanced, double edged, the bottom half serrated on one side. I grumble as I find myself a new one, reluctantly waiting in line behind the girl from One. She tries to speak to me, and I ignore her. I think she notices, because she pulls one of my killer's strings.

"So, you still haven't told me. Why the heck is the boy from Twelve in the Alliance?" I groan in frustration. Doesn't she understand that I want to rip everything apart right now? I sigh, angry at myself for giving in.

"It was Mera's idea." I say, uncaring, "Something about betrayal and putting on a show in the beginning? I don't know, but she promises it'll be good. Apparently she's told Cassia all her plans, but they won't tell me because I might get _carried away_." I air-quote the last bit, and Malaya recoils. Whether from revulsion or being left out, I'm unsure. I can't read her expression.

"Well, that sounds like… _fun_." She says, though her eyes are closed, her usual smirk a small frown. Nope, still can't tell.

"Anyway." I say awkwardly, having temporarily forgotten my anger, "What do you thinkm of the other tributes? Anybody you gonna go for in the Bloodbath?"

"No." She says, "Besides, even if I did, you'd take them out before I had a chance just to spite me. How about you?" Now I know something's wrong, but I ignore it.

"Definitely the girl from Eight. She's been getting on my nerves." I go on to explain to her what happened at the track, between me and the girls from Eight and Ten. "Next would be her." I nod to Ten, and Malaya looks at her dispassionately.

"You know what? I'm just going to go do something else." She looks around in disgust, and I think I catch her glaring at Mera. She racks _my_ sword, and departs, heading to the shelters station, where the boy from Six and the pair from Eleven are.

I snatch my sword from the rack, pondering over the conversation I just had with my ally. Something has to be wrong, right? The way she was acting was weird.

I shrug as the trainer motions for me to join him on the mat. I hope they put my sword in the Arena.

* * *

Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District 7

District Seven Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I have been surprisingly lucky thus far. I already have an ally, though she really should view me as an enemy after what happened to her after the chariot rides. It's also surprised me how easily the pranks Lia and I pulled on others in the District back home can be converted into lethal traps. When I was Reaped, I never even considered that I might be good at something.

The Capitol seemed to like my first impression, though. I've seen myself slamming that silly pie into Lumeo's face dozens of times on the T.V. on Floor Seven, and Oak says that I got a few Sponsors because of that act alone. I'm still not sure though.

The Arena is a place of death, one that I will meet firsthand in a couple days. The only thing that could save my life are my traps.

I sigh as I trip the wire and watch the dummy flip over, hanging by its leg. Which person in this room will die like this? Alone, starving, dying slowly as their brain eventually suffers a stroke from too much blood.

Infiniti gives me a thumbs-up as she watches my swift fingers untie the rope around the dummy's ankle. It's strange, going through this with someone else. I miss Lia, the jokes we'd play on each other. My parents, who were annoying yet told me how much they appreciated me anyway. I even miss the air-headed Capitolites who made me wear ridiculous costumes and would bug me for hours. Life was simpler then.

It isn't lost on me that in a year, one of us will come back, the others forgotten forever. I could be one of those forgotten, and that terrifies me. How could I honestly beat the Careers? They're stronger, faster, and more skillful. Even most of the other tributes, most of which are younger than me, seem to have a better chance of surviving. And if I got the chance to kill any of them, would I?

I follow Infiniti back to the edible plants station, which she's been making us frequent. She's determined, I can tell, but I can't help but wonder what she's so worried about.

"I swear, Kenz, I can get it all right this time! I got ninety-eight earlier, I'm so close!" I know she's referring to the plants test, which she's done very well on. She's never even _seen_ most of the stuff here, though I can identify most just from living in Seven. I think that makes her more intent on getting it all right.

As the test screen lights up in front of us, her fingers begin to fly across the keyboard, and she pays no attention when the boy from Eight walks up behind her, waiting patiently. He's been here a lot too, as well as traps. But he doesn't have an ally, as far as I know.

My stomach turns as I look at the boy. He's two years younger than me, and ten times more innocent. The odds are stacked against him, from his age to his District. There's no way this isn't a Career year, the fourth in a row.

 _Stop that!_ I scold myself, _You're in these Games too! You can't give up yet!_ But how can I? It's not like I can throw an axe like Logan or even the girl from Eight. I should be able to, but it was never a requirement for me. I never thought I'd need it. And now, it's screwing me over.

No, there has to be a way to win.

* * *

Jasper Blue, Age 16, District 4

District Four Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Henry is just stepping up to the plants test as I walk over, past the girls from Three and Seven. He notices me only as I take his arm, preventing him from pressing the _start_ button. He looks up at me, panicked, and then relaxes slightly when he sees it's me.

"Um, hey, Blue." He starts hesitantly, "What's up?" He glances to where I'm still holding him, and I quickly release.

I raise my hands apologetically, and say, "Sorry, um… You got a minute?" I curse myself inwardly. This shouldn't be this hard, I made up my mind this morning.

"Well, I do now." He cracks a smile, and I let a deep breath out. I haven't screwed up yet.

"So, I uh, I've been thinking about your proposal for an alliance the other day." _Thinking about_ is a slight understatement. I've been watching this kid since he first came to me, talking to him enough so as to not get his hopes up, of course, but I've taken great note of his skills. In my limited training back in Four, it was all weapons-based, none of this survival crap. Most tributes from our District don't even need it, because we're usually with the Careers. But I'm not.

"And…?" He presses, his smile growing wider.

"I'm going to have to accept." I blurt, and he starts laughing slightly. I realize that my behavior was probably strange, and I understand how it must have looked to him. I crack a smile, and Henry looks up at me, holding his hand out.

I reach out to take it as the lunch bell rings.

Instead of shaking, I grab his wrist and tug him in the direction of the cafeteria, whose door is already wide open. He pulls himself from my grasp, running ahead of me. I take on the challenge, and race after him.

I'm only a few seconds behind him as he enters the lunch room, but I find my path blocked by Mera and the Careers. The Twos are on either side of her, the boy from One off to the right. The girl from One and the boy from Twelve are nowhere in sight, and I assume they're in line already.

"Where're you going so fast, Jasper?" The boy from Two asks.

I take a deep breath, looking up at Mera. Her face is apologetic, and I figure she's going to apologize for her allies' actions later. But for now, I'm on my own. I'm fine though.

"Just heading to lunch." I incline my head slightly, looking up at the boy, _man_ , really. It's people like him that haunt children's dreams, but I'm not afraid of him. "Like you should be. What do you want, Two?"

He looks at me curiously, then snickers. "Couldn't help but notice your chasing after Eight. Was he bothering you?" He speaks as though talking to a small child, and I roll my eyes. "I could gun for him when the gong rings. Then maybe I can be the first to get a full set." His District partner _giggles_ , and I think I understand what he means. I'll have to warn Henry. Later, though, maybe after they had all gone in for their Private Sessions.

"Sure, whatever. Can I go now?" I try to push past him, and he flings himself to the floor.

"What was that for?" He shrieks, holding his arm, as though injured. "Aw, man, what the heck did I do to you?" He moans, and I can't help but glare down at him. What an idiot.

On the other side of him, I see most of the other tributes watching, including Henry. He raises his hands like _what the heck?_ And I just shrug. Then I see the girl from One walking towards us.

"What is going on here?" She asks, sounding bored. Her District Partner steps forward.

"This punk shoved him." He calls, loud enough for the trainers to here. She looks down at him.

"Well, he better toughen up." She turns and walks back to where she was sitting, throwing a glance over her shoulder.

I'm pretty sure she winks at me.

* * *

Aran Quade, Age 17, District 6

District Six Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Things settled down considerably once the boy from Two realized that what he did was stupid. Slowly he got up, grumbling as he waited behind the other Careers, who were between him and the boy from Four. I couldn't help but think it strange that he's not with them.

Lunch is just about over now, and the door to the cafeteria is closed, leaving only the iron door next to it open. The boy from One is standing next to it, watching the clock tick on, probably ready to show off to the Gamemakers.

The Private Sessions, more often than not, determine who will actually survive the Games. Nearly every Victor got a score over a seven, though there are a handful who did worse than that. I mean, there's even one that got a flat-out zero.

I tell myself this, knowing that, in reality, my best option is to not mess up. According to Kiara, I got a few Sponsors lined up from my Reaping, as she was apparently able to convince them that I was just excited to get to the stage, not trying to run away.

The boy from One disappears, the door falling behind him. I wonder what he will do.

 _But what will_ I _do?_ I've worked a little with swords the last few days, I suppose, and I'm not too bad with traps, but I'm nowhere near Career-level.

"Malaya Garnet."

I watch as Malaya, the girl from One, vanishes behind the door. She's always been slightly interesting to me, not totally with all that the Careers are doing, but still definitely a Career. I think that, when the Career Alliance breaks, it will be because of her.

As I sit, knowing that my turn isn't for a while, my thoughts begin to wander. I think back to Reyna, the only family I really have left. At only nine, I'll probably be a distant memory to her when she passes her final Reaping, like our father already is to her. I can't remember out mother's face, I was only eight at the time of her passing. Is she excited to see me soon? Is she confident that I can win?

"Cordin Bolt."

I look to the door, expecting to watch another tribute walk out, but nobody moves. The voice calls out again, "Cordin Bolt, District Three. Please report for individual assessment." But still, all is still, a few tributes whispering to one another.

"I wonder where he is." Jetta says next to me. I opt to ignore her, however, but she's used to it by now.

The Gamemakers still wait the whole fifteen minutes before calling Cordin's District Partner, and I envy the expression of "good luck" given by the girl from Seven. They've been allies, probably since after the chariot parade. They've been hanging out all of training.

I think about my choice to not go in with an ally. It could get me killed, but, ultimately, it could be the very thing that keeps me alive. I've thought strongly the last couple days on who I might try to team up with, but I'm really not fond of my options. They all are either ready to kill me at the drop of a pin, or remind me of Reyna, who I could never watch die.

"Aran Quade."

I take a deep breath, standing slowly. Without looking back, I pass by the trainer, who bows slightly as I step back into the training room.

All I can hope for is a seven.

* * *

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know: (Remember. You can change who it is up until the Private Sessions, in two chapters. Once I post the Sessions, you will no longer be able to choose who you want to Sponsor. You've been warned.)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 149 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 140 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **dreams and desperation: 136 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **Jaybird8101: 118 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 92 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District 8 Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 83 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 73**

 **caitiebug007: 77 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 68**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 72 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 64**

 **MeganCK: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **roses burning: 82**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **InfiniteDespair: 56**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Queens and a Pawn (124 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (124), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).**

 **Reluctance (56 points) : Infiniti (3) (56), and Kenzi (7).**

 **Brains and Brawn (84): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (84).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (127 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (127), and Keola (12).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Questions!:**

 **Which do you think would be worse? Last place or second overall?**

 **Which Alliance do you think will shatter first?**

 **Any new alliance/sponsor thoughts?**

 **What kind of scores do you think certain tributes will get?**

 **Which POV was your fav?**

 **Least fav?**

 **How may Victors have you gotten out of SYOT's? (Zero for me)**

 **How many of your tributes have fallen? (Five at this point)**

 **Bye y'all,**

 **John**


	22. Place Your Bets- Training Scores

**And here is the scores chapter! It took longer than I had hoped, but I pulled my hamstring (in my sleep, how the heck does that even work?) and life's been a nightmare. Either way, here's a chapter!**

 **Reviews!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: I just realized that I had your tribute defend your other tribute… That's fun.**

 **roses burning: I'd have to agree with you, second would suck eggs. I mean, you'd be** _ **so close**_ **! Thanks for the review!**

 **dreams and desperation: Congratulations on having two Victors, and thanks for the review!**

 **JaymanRepublic: Hey, at least you have a Victor. 0:5 is worse than 1:10. In my unprofessional opinion.**

 **Clis2339: I'm glad you liked the chapter, and I'm sorry about your other tributes. I've got like 6 that I just removed from my list** **.**

 **TranscendentElvenRanger: I didn't know you had a second one! Then again, that might be why.**

 **I would highly recommend checking the bottom of the chapter to make sure you've got your sponsorship where you want it. You can sponsor someone who already has a sponsor. I will delete all points of anybody who isn't listed below with a tribute next to their name. This will come into effect when the next chapter is posted. No ifs, ands or buts, even if you hate me for it. Sorry not sorry.**

 **In** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my D1 female tribute, Atalanta, has made the top 11! If you haven't already, check the story out, it's amazing!**

* * *

Julius Incandes, Age 27, Capitol

Master of Ceremonies

* * *

"And, as we count down the final _moments_ to the reveal of this year's scores, the polls of Panem are coming in, giving us what _you_ think each tribute will score!" I say brightly, raising my fists with excitement. This is the day of the famed "One-Hour Riots," I know, where people demand a change in scores. Doesn't affect my mood, though.

"That's right, Julius!" Nero chirps in beside me, "This year should be interesting, so many of this year's tributes seem so strong!" He laughs heartily, and I do the same. The holographic screen upon the desk we share lights up, showing the country highlights of what has made this year great.

First there's Mason from Two, standing on stage before his partner is called. Nero and I loved that one, though Roz Hiccurb, the escort, didn't seem to enjoy it as much. There's our Volunteers, the Ones, Twos and Fours, Thanatos from Nine, Keola from Twelve, Rebelle from Thirteen. The patriotism shown by Jetta, Tulle and Sparky from Six, Eight and Thirteen.

There're the chariot rides, the Greek warriors from One, the gods from Four. Devon from five, a spirit of fire and destruction. Yes, this year has been good, and I sure hope it can only get better. It's a Quell, after all.

"Speaking of strength, Nero, how about the predicted placings, huh? I'm sorry, I have to read those again." I smile pleadingly at Nero, but he knows the act, we've done this same show together for a decade. He nods, laughing loudly.

"Go ahead, my friend!"

"It appears as though our guests from the outermost Districts are projected to fall quickly, Nero." I say out loud, reading the script off the paper. Why is it so hard to remember this part? Maybe because it changes every year.

"Oh yeah? Just get on with it, Julius!" I look around at him, my eyes following the camera crews around me. They're all so still and quiet, they're almost statues.

I thrust my hand out to my partner as if telling him to _shut it_ , then I speak. "It appears as though our youngest competitor, Sparky, is set to fall first, though I'm sure it's age. It appears as though the Twelves are next, with Keola in 25th and Soot in 24th. Things aren't looking that good for Twelve. And it seems like Thorn from Eleven has taken 23rd, with Denny from Ten in 22nd. 21st has been taken by Jetta from Six, 20th by Henry from Eight, 19th by Willow from Eleven. All of these take the slots of the average bloodbath, so we'll assume these tributes are here.

"After the bloodbath, on a continuation of Day One, there are usually about two deaths. The predicted here are Infiniti from Three and Devon from Five. As after Day One is over, the Games are quite unpredictable in terms of deaths-per-day, I'll just list the rest.

"16th through 14th are taken by Cheyenne from Ten, Rebelle from Thirteen, and Kenzi from Seven. At this point, we have eliminated Districts Ten through Thirteen completely, with all the others with at least one left.

"In 13th and 12th, we have Thanatos and Harvest from Nine, respectively. Tulle is down for 11th, knocking Eight and Nine out too. Darius from Five is here for 10th, with Jasper from Four following in 9th. To get us through to the Final Six, Logan from Seven and Aran from Six bite the dust at 8th and 7th.

"It is little surprise that Cordin from Three should fall in 6th, as he's the only "outer" District tribute left. Marcus and Malaya, the duo from One, are predicted in 5th and 4th. At this point, we can agree that the Two's will want that third Victory badly enough to take Esmeralda out first, laying her in 3rd. After what would surely be a well-fought battle, Cassia would fall to Mason's hand, stopping her short, in 2nd place. While, of course, Mason becomes the third Victor in a row from District Two!"

Nero gasps in shock, as though he didn't see it coming. As I set the paper back down on the table, an envelope is dropped on my desk.

The scores are here.

* * *

Esmeralda Dawn, Age 18, District 4

District Four Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"Since around the turn of the century," Julius begins, " the scores have been broadcasted in a random order, so as to encourage potential Sponsors and gamblers to listen for _all_ the tributes' scores without bias. Whether this works, I don't know. I'm not allowed to do either!" The strange Capitol man laughs for the eightieth time, and I groan. _Get on with it_.

He opens the envelope slowly, plucking out a folded sheet of paper. He flips up the top flap, winking into the camera. He whispers, as though addressing a single person, "Let's find out, shall we?"

"And our first tribute up: from District Five, Devon Rose. With a score of… Six." I recognize the mother from Five, who was a fair knife thrower. Clearly not super great, otherwise she would have received a higher score.

"From District Eight: Tulle Salane. With a score of… Five." I recognize Tulle to be the girl who stood up to Mason during training today. He's still pretty pissed, as far as I can tell. She'd better watch out.

"From District Seven: Kenzi Williams. With a score of… Three." I remember the prankster girl, who worked on snares and crap in training. I honestly thought she'd score higher.

"From District Nine: Harvest Miller. With a score of… Nine!" I gasp. _She wasn't even there for the_ Sessions!

Kinzie stands from the couch, rage etched into her face. "What does she do?" She demands, "How could she get such a score?" I look at Blue, who only shrugs. "Great, an unknown. I hate unknowns." She sits back down, defeated.

"District One: Malaya Garnet. With a score of… Nine! Another nine by a female tribute!" I had expected as much from my ally, so I'm not surprised.

"District Two: Mason Lepodolite. With a score of… Ten! Our first ten of the year, folks!" I can't believe that idiotic buffoon actually did it! Scratch that, yes I can. He'll be my first target when the alliance breaks.

"District Twelve: Keola Foeba. With a score of… Four." Soot's District Partner, who Volunteered despite no experience whatsoever. She'll fall in the Bloodbath, for sure.

"District Eleven: Willow Orchids. With a score of… Seven!" Honestly, a score higher than you'd expect from a thirteen-year-old. But still a Bloodbath, either way you slice it.

"District Nine: Thanatos Rize. With a score of… Nine! Double nines from District Nine!" He laughs heavily, which almost drowns out Kinzie's outburst of fury. Almost. He didn't do anything of note either, I'll have to watch for him.

"From District Eight: Henry Reynoso. With a score of… Seven!" Blue gives a small cry of joy, and I roll my eyes. Though I'm trying hard not to show it, I'm happy he found an ally. He's grown on me these last few days.

"From District Ten: Our favorite Cheyenne Bruno… a Seven!" I chuckle at the thought of Cheyenne, the girl who everybody thought would win, not getting the _ten_ the people were hoping for. The Games are about more than speed, the ability to evade. She got caught in the end, didn't she? There are probably already riots, demanding a better score.

"From District Twelve: Soot Maloy. With… a Five." I hadn't expected anything better from my temporary ally, anyway. He won't be causing us any trouble by the time the death recap plays on Day One.

"District Thirteen: Sparky Montgomery… One." The boy is literally insane. I would have expected a zero, but he showed up, I guess. I wonder if he tried to hug the dummies to death.

"District Seven: Logan Woodson. With a score of… Eight!" I feel instantly threatened, just by the number on the screen. We have to take Seven down this year, we just have to. They already have more Victors than us.

"From District Three: Infiniti Reagan. With a score of… Seven!" I remember the seventeen-year-old girl, with the weird eye tricks. What's her problem anyways?

"From Ten: Denny Rico. With a score of… Six." A mediocre score for a mediocre tribute. A Bloodbath, really.

"From District Six: Aran Quade. With… another Six." I was expecting higher from him, after his little performance at his Reaping, and the fact he was in a prison uniform. What did he do, throw a rock at a peacekeeper?

"From District One: Marcus Caelum. With a score of… Nine! Another nine for the tributes from One!" So Cassia and I are the only ones to be announced. Like Malaya, I was expecting no different from Marcus, though I think he'll fall when the alliance breaks, alongside Mason.

"District Eleven: Thorn Ashburry. With a score of… Eight!" Eight is surprisingly high for someone like Thorn, being thirteen and from Eleven, but he did smash a lot of stuff during training. That anger could get him killed.

"From District Five: Darius Line. With… yet another Seven!" Darius practiced with a staff in training, and he probably used it for his Session. A seven usually requires some form of combat.

"To complete District Six: Jetta Carter. With… Another Seven!" It takes a moment to place the malnourished girl from Six, and I'm quite surprised she outscored her Partner. Maybe she got a lucky shot?

"To finally start District Four: Esmeralda Dawn." I lean forward, ready to see what I get. This score could be what gives me more Sponsors than the others after the alliance breaks. "With a score of… Ten! Our second ten of the day!" There's cheering around me, and I crack a smile. But we can't party yet, the girl from Thirteen hasn't been shown yet.

"District Three: Cordin Bolt. With… An Eight!" I'll have to watch for this boy, too. Who knows what he has up his sleeve? Eights are dangerous, and I add his name to my list of targets, right under _Nine_ and _Seven_.

"From District Two: Cassia Maurise. With… Our third Ten of the day, and a double ten for District Two!" You would think the Gamemakers would be sick of girls from Two and their knives, but _no._ Another ten for the Twos. Could I take on both of them?

"To finish off District Four: Jasper Blue. With a score of… Eight!" More cheers erupt around me, but my team isn't that excited for Blue. He's not in the Career Alliance anyway. Although, I am glad for him. If I don't win, I hope he does.

 _Not that I'm going to lose_.

"And last, but certainly not least." I lean forward again, imagining how the stupid girl would react to whatever her score is. "The long-lost daughter of a Victor, and tribute from District Thirteen. A Volunteer, no less. Rebelle Rine, with a score of… Six."

I start laughing, as the smug look in my mind is wiped clean off the girl's face. Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy, and I laugh harder.

* * *

Thanatos Rize, Age 15, District 9

District Nine Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Harvest (my mentor, not my idiot District Partner) stands from the couch, walking up to the projector screen to turn it off. She leans down to Wheat as she passes him, but I can't hear what they're saying over the celebrations of the Capitol half of our teams.

I just don't get it. How did little Harvest Miller, the girl who was kind to everyone in training, match my score of 9? She didn't even go to her Private Session, like the boy from Three, yet they both got scores.

It just doesn't make any sense.

I tried to ask the girl about it, but she seems just as shocked as I, but I think there's something the Miller siblings aren't letting on, something they're keeping from my mentor and I. But what could it possibly be?

"Thanatos!" Harmony Whittaker, my stylist, engulfs me in a hug, and I shudder. "You and Harvest have gotten the highest scores a Nine has gotten in the past thirty years! You should be celebrating with us!" She takes my hand, hauling me to the dining room, where a feast like all the others lies in wait.

Harm pushes me into a chair as the rest of Nine's team enter the kitchen, at the insistence of the escort and prep teams. My mentor sits next to me, and I notice for the hundredth time just how much shorter than me she is. Her long black hair, flowing down her back, is lower in the chair than my chin, and I wish again that I could have gotten Purcia for a mentor. A fourteen-year-old girl isn't exactly someone I'd like to accept advice from.

Across the table from us, the Miller siblings are whispering together, their heaping plates left untouched. Wheat keeps glancing at me, as though I could overhear them. He seems worried about something.

Before I can think further on it, Stanleis stands up, his wine glass in hand. He taps it with a spoon, reminding me of those stupid shows he made me watch after the Games recaps on the train. I can't wait to get into the Arena and away from people like him.

"May I have your attention please?" He gives what I assume is supposed to be a charming smile. I've never seen one thrown my way, so I wouldn't know. "I would like to propose a toast, to our very own Niners, Harvest and Thanatos!" The Capitolites give grand cheers, and my mentor raises her hands and shakes them in mock celebration. Wheat and Harvest sit there, glaring.

"Now, we have all of today and tomorrow before the Interviews, and so we should begin right after this wonderful feast. I will be helping in any way I can, but your mentors have forbade me from interfering too much." His grin falters, and he seems pained. It's instantaneously back, however, and he drones on, "Nevertheless, I just wanted to say how proud I am of you two, how double Nines from a District like yours is no easy feat, I'm sure." Wheat growls, but Stanleis ignores him.

"I am certain that we are on our way to another Victor this year, and you have all my faith and confidence. To our tributes!" More cheers, and I see my District Partner shrinking in her chair. She looks terrified, and I grin maliciously as her eyes meet mine. She shrieks, but nobody can hear it over the cheers.

Our idiot escort takes his seat, and I begin to eat. I never had delicacies like this back home, when I was living alone in a shack, nothing but my scythe and the tesserae fields to keep me company, so, yes, I've become a bit of a pig these last few days.

As I dig my teeth in to my third chicken leg, I feel a sharp jab in my shoulder. I turn, looking at Harvest in surprise. It will always amaze me how physically, I'm a year older, but in reality, she's seventy-five years my senior. I still don't like it.

"So what's your plan?" She whispers, so that only I can hear. She probably noticed Wheat and Harvest talking quietly, and decided that she wanted some secrets too. Little girls. "You have a Career score, meaning they'll likely gun for you at the Cornucopia, in case it wasn't a fluke. Most of my mentoring years, I advised my tributes to run away, and it's just as important for you as it was for them. I shouldn't have any issues getting you supplies-"

"I'll be fine." I snap, somehow keeping my voice low. "I told you, I already have a plan in place, without risking my life in the Bloodbath yet still getting supplies. I will be fine." I haven't told her my plan yet, and I have no reason to. She can't help me when the gong rings, no matter how much she thinks she can. I will win under my own power, trusting nobody.

This is _my_ time to step on others, and I won't let someone else take any credit.

* * *

Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District 13

District Thirteen Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Rebelle is angry. She wanted a higher score, that much is evident enough. She has been blowing up at Soldier for the past couple hours, blaming him for all of it. For not trying enough, for not using his extra power to stop the Games. Claiming that he could have done so much for the rebellion.

At least, that's what one can see if they read between the lines. The bugs in the room can hear everything I can, but they probably can't understand all of it. My District Partner has made sure she's made it sound innocent enough so that Tobias Trinket, our escort, thinks she's just a little scared. If the President, or any of the Gamemakers hear any of this, she's going to get herself killed.

And there's no way I'm going down with her.

Which, of course, is why I'm actually up on the roof tonight, staring at the stars. In Thirteen, we never really get to see the stars, as the District is pretty much underground. We only know what time it is by the announcements, which come at every hour between 0800 and 2100.

Tobias is constantly reminding me that 2100 is _nine o'clock_ , to which I scream something along the lines of _"WHO'S CRAZY NOW, YOU FAT COCONUT?_ " To which he scowls, reminded of my Reaping. I have no problems with his pain. I'm the one going into the Games, after all.

My stomach lurches slightly at the thought of the Games. I could be dying in a few days, and that scares me. I have had fun harassing the other tributes, though, so that's good, I guess. I've proven to the world that I'm as crazy as my mother.

Is she watching the Games? I really can't be sure. She watched a little during the years that I cared for her, but it usually threw her into her little episodes. Has she even realized that I'm here? Probably not. She barely recognized me when I was home, anyway.

It's probably best that I was Reaped this year. I'm one of very few with nobody to grieve over me. In a month, my name will be long forgotten, unless I live long enough so that my insanity stands out. They're still talking about Titus from the Sixty-Sixth, because he ate his kills. But do I want to be remembered as a killer?

I jump at the sound of the door opening behind me, the one leading to the roof. I turn, unable to see the newcomer in the darkness. I'm sure the small rooftop garden, with its tall grass and wide, holographic trees, isn't helping much.

I drop on all fours, scampering into the foliage. For a moment, I remember the beautiful Arenas of the second and fourth Quarter Quells, but I shake it off. I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn to see who followed me up here. Well, maybe they had no idea I was here, but who cares?

A figure, much taller than me, is standing almost exactly where I was moments earlier. I hear it exhale, and then a male voice muttering something. I recognize the voice, though I can't place it. Definitely a tribute.

He's still muttering, and I scoot closer, trying to catch _something_. An advantage over any tribute would be a good one, and Snow knows I need one.

"I know you're there, you know." I freeze as the words leave the boy's mouth, and he laughs slightly. "There's no use hiding. You're not a Career, you are quieter than they could ever be. You're not Jetta, she's downstairs. I know the girl from Thirteen is, too, she was screaming some very mean things at somebody. I didn't hear her District Partner, which leads me to believe that you're him." He turns, I think, nut I can't make out his face. "How long have you been faking it, Thirteen?"

My body still refuses to move, so he asks, "Are you coming out, or should I come in? There's not a lot of space to hide, and I'm not afraid of you. I'm fine with either." Finally, my legs seem to have the ability to move, and I stand, slowly. I see the boy visibly relax, and I wonder how he managed to stay so calm. I could have been anyone.

I step forward, feeling the lights of the Capitol illuminate my face, and the boy looks back over the edge of the building. I tiptoe as I approach him, still wary. He's got to be the boy from Five or Six, and I'm leaning toward Six. In fact, Five probably would have started yelling by now.

I stand next to him, and he asks again. "How long have you been faking it?" He doesn't look at me, doesn't even shift in the slightest. I sigh, wondering again how he can be as calm in such a situation as ours. Six always seemed calmer and kinder than the others, despite being Reaped in prison clothes.

Despite my best efforts, I unload my whole story to the boy, and he only listens, never interrupting me once.

We'll both be dead in a couple days, I might as well get this off my chest now.

* * *

 **Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know: (Remember. You can change who it is up until the Private Sessions, which is next chapter. Once I post the Sessions, you will no longer be able to choose who you want to Sponsor. You've been warned.)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 167 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 157 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **dreams and desperation: 153 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **Jaybird8101: 130 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 105 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District 8 Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 95 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **caitiebug007: 85 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 79 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **faceless eater aka slendergirl: 73**

 **HufflePuffleJay: 68**

 **Rina-The-Fangirl: 64**

 **MeganCK: 56**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56**

 **Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:**

 **roses burning: 85**

 **Jotunheim Storm: 59**

 **InfiniteDespair: 56**

 **CreativeAJL: 53**

 **grimbutnotalways: 53**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Queens and a Pawn (153 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (153), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).**

 **Reluctance (79 points) : Infiniti (3) (79), and Kenzi (7).**

 **Brains and Brawn (105 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (105).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (157 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (157), and Keola (12).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Questions!:**

 **What scores surprised you?**

 **Have you checked up on Sponsor stuffs?**

 **Got any questions about anything?**

 **Thoughts on the Predicted Placings?**

 **Pick a tribute (that isn't your own), and tell me how you think they'll go about the Bloodbath. Who might they kill? Will they survive? What will they get away with?**

 **Bye y'all,**

 **John**


	23. Showing Off- Private Sessions

**And we are finally here, at the Private Sessions! Again, I'm sorry for the wait, my hammie (hammy?) forced me to make up multiple tests from school that I missed. And a slight lack of motivation. I'm not dead though, in case you were wondering.**

 **This time around, however, I broke my leg Saturday. So I'm working to finish this today, worst case scenario Monday or Tuesday.**

 **Maybe, once I finish the interviews, I can fall away from the repetitiveness and actually dive right in to launch.**

 **Reviews!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: I agree, three Victors in a row is a little excessive, and I'm surprised I haven't already had it happen. But this year, a Victory from most any District will have some historical significance, because I don't want anybody thinking I rigged the Games.**

 **dreams and desperation: I think that it is a relatively safe guesstimate, but you never know, I suppose. I don't like him very much.**

 **Wolfie McCoy: It was great to hear from you again, friend! I've missed you!**

 **TranscendentElvenRanger: I think everyone hopes they're wrong XD Except, of course, my brother, who created Mason. He's already trying to convince me how he could come out on top in his final battle between himself and the other Careers… He's a silly little bird.**

 **roses burning: Life is the Hunger Games, obviously. Why'd you ask? ;)**

 **Clis2339: I know, it's strange, huh? Twenty-five sent home in a cardboard box, their submitters grieving and wondering where it went wrong. And one lucky person, with the one tribute who was strong enough, smart enough, more skillful than the others, a true Victor. I will never forget any of these tributes, though, trust me.**

 **In** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my only remaining tribute, Atalanta, has made the Top 11, having been confirmed to survive Day 11 (at least to the death recap). If you haven't yet checked it out, make sure you do that. It's a great story, and super realistic. I have multiple links in my bio if you need help finding it.**

 **Also, the author of** _ **Forest of Death**_ **, TranscendentElvenRanger, has opened up submissions for** _ **Toxic Play: The 55**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **. You can find more info on her profile.**

* * *

Mars Viking, Age 20, Capitol

Head Gamemaker

* * *

This has always been my least favorite part of my job, the one that takes freaking six and a half hours of just sitting there and doing nothing. The beginning is usually interesting, with the Career Districts and the showing off of their skills, but then we reach the inevitable point of which nobody can do anything interesting anymore. And, of course, there's the fact that the tributes who catch the eyes of the Gamemakers usually make it furthest.

I look around at my assembled Gamemakers, most of them chatting with others in their departments about what they'll be doing tonight, or where they'll be once they aren't needed until next year. Most are ordering around the avoxes, if only to laugh at their hurriedness.

I look up at the clock, groaning as I realize that the tributes still have a few minutes for lunch before we can call in the boy from One. Most of them are probably already in the waiting room, racking their brains and trying to figure out how they might impress us, but protocol says we have to wait until twelve-thirty.

I take a deep breath, leaning my head back against my chair. It's quite comfortable, though I'm not sure exactly what all it's made out of. The wood is dark, the fabric of the cushion and backrest a deep purple. My inferiors sit in chairs uncomfortably similar, green instead of purple. Quorra from aesthetics is constantly complaining about how it clashes with her scaly fingers. Personally, I think they should all sit on wooden benches.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the tributes' lunch break. I look over to Kunai, my assistant, and he nods quickly. As he speaks into his microphone, the idiots around me quiet down, staring intently at the door next to the cafeteria, where the tributes undoubtedly are. "Marcus Caelum, District One." Can be heard through the speakers. The door raises, and the boy walks out.

Marcus looks up at us, taking a deep breath as he does so. Kunai's voice reverberates around the room, informing the tribute that he only has fifteen minutes before hos session is over. He nods and walks over to the maces station, where he spent most of his training days. Got rather boring, actually.

He looks over the assortment of weapons, as if unable to find what he's looking for. I had been expecting this, of course, hoping he wouldn't make us watch him swing around that stupid hammer he likes so much. Hoping, however, is for children.

He looks up at us, inclining his head in order to look slightly intimidating. "My weapon is the Warhammer." He informs us, holding his arms out as if we were small children. "I'm going to need one now." My mouth twitches slightly, even as I nod to an avox. She bows before disappearing, only to reappear below us moments later, handing the weapon to the boy from One.

Without looking back up to us, he walks over to the hand-to-hand combat simulator, typing on the keypad. He steps in, and the force field wall between us and the training center becomes a screen, showcasing the simulator.

Twenty-three robotic tributes appear, most of them on a fairly low level, their health about one-third of the way full. After they take the required amount of hits, they will fall. And they do. He takes out thirteen himself, while the other ten accidently take each other out in an attempt to stab him.

His District partner, Malaya, comes out next, barely sparing us a glance before heading straight to the archery range, as most girls from her District have done in the past. As expected, she fires arrow after arrow into each of the dummies down range, hitting the bullseye anywhere from twenty to forty meters, and only hitting the shoulder at worst anywhere past that.

After a few short minutes, she racks the bow, and collects a few javelins from the neighboring station. She sets them side-by-side along the table, lifting one up and feeling for its weight. She then plants her feet, proceeding to throw it at the dummy she had shot at first earlier, the projectile burying its head in the material right next to the arrow. She continues this, splitting the arrows on two of the twenty meter targets, and one on a thirty-five. She barely misses the bullseye on her final cast.

She looks up at the clock, seeing she still has a few minutes left. Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds, to be exact. I lean forward as she grabs a broadsword from the swords station, charging the dummies. All that's left are slabs of target foam.

Mason is invited in after she leaves, and he makes a beeline for the sword station, barely glancing at the archery range, where trainers are cleaning up Malaya's mess and replacing the dummies. After selecting the same sword that Malaya had just replaced, he enters the simulator Marcus also took.

Many of the other Gamemakers groan, and I have to agree. He used a sword all of training, and we had hoped he would try something new, take us by surprise. Too many from his District do this. It's really annoying.

He sets the difficulty of the mutts to their highest, the ones we usually send into the Arena to kill a specific tribute. The Gamemakers' box goes dark, and we watch, half-heartedly, as he gets into a fighting stance.

The mutts, giant scorpions, surround the Career, but he doesn't seem worried. He lowers his sword, using his left hand to pop his neck. Then the first mutt strikes.

A pincer lashes out, dripping in venom. Mason dances nimbly out of the way, and I hear a slight gasp. Another's stinger flies in, and Mason ducks into a roll, slicing it off as it appears above him, where he stood moments earlier. I mark _10_ and _11_ on my clipboard.

"Cassia Maurise."

The girl from Two flaunts into the training room, flashing me a winning smile as she heads to the knives station, and I can't help but groan again. The Twos this year really aren't all that _original_ , are they?

As expected, the tribute selects multiple throwing knives, sending them into the middle of the smallest circles on each of the dummies down range. I'm surprised, however, when she stops at twelve. She steps back, walking over to the tomahawk racks. I sit forward, my interest caught. She makes multiple casts, each one landing itself parallel with a knife, the ring of metal-on-metal often being heard.

Then she surprises us again, heading over to the trap station, where she begins to make some expert-level snares. She never did anything like that during the training days, and I suspect none of her allies know about it. She'll be one to watch.

"Cordin Bolt."

The door opens, but the person who steps through it is not the boy from Three. Instead, I recognize Gaia, one of the trainers. She raises her hands, shrugging.

"Cordin Bolt, District Three. Please report for individual assessment." Gaia shakes her head even as Kunai begins speaking, and vanishes back behind the door.

"And just _what_ are we going to do about this?" Quorra's high-pitched voice rings through the Gamemakers' box. "We've already lost a tribute!"

The others laugh, but I remain stone-faced. A tribute unaccounted for could be anywhere, but there's no way he left the building. He could have seen the other tributes' Sessions, however, which really wouldn't be good.

"Kunai, call up Matrix, I'm pretty sure he's the boy's mentor." He nods, pressing a few buttons next to the speaker. He plugs his headset in and throws it on, blocking out the sounds of disbelief coming from the other Gamemakers.

He's sitting there, ticking his head back and forth, when he suddenly stops. He brings the microphone piece to his lips, speaking.

"Yes, is Matrix Volt there?"

"Oh, yes, hello, Mr. Volt."

"Yes, the Sessions are going great."

"Yes, about that. Is Mr. Bolt up there? He hasn't reported for his Session."

"Yes, he was here during training this morning."

"Okay, thank you. Yes, we'll find him, I'm sure."

He presses a button on the speaker, ending the call. He removes the headset, shrugging as he turns to me. I sit back in my chair, releasing a deep breath loudly. This is… troublesome.

"What are we going to do, then? A zero, yes?" A voice asks eagerly from off to my right. I close my eyes, pinching my nose in frustration. When I open them again, there's an avox standing before me, my clipboard in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. I nod slightly, taking both from him.

"Yes, a zero is warranted here." I say, marking it next to _Cordin Bolt_. "Such a shame too." I take a sip from the glass. "I was hoping he'd be of some interest." I hand the avox the half-full glass of wine, and he drinks it, smiling at me.

"Thank you, that was delicious." And I recognize the boy from Three, mischievous grin and all.

A gasp rings through the box, and I can't help but agree. How did he get in? When? How much did he see?

"I came in today, figuring that I wouldn't see anything too interesting from the Careers, or, at least, nothing I haven't already seen. But does it really matter? I can't talk about my Private Session anyway, and I have no allies to blab to." He grins, thinking that this is genius.

I scowl. In a stern voice, I bid him leave. I smirk at the frown on his face. I may be impressed, but I won't show it to him. Or anybody, really.

"Infiniti Reagan."

The door opens, and the girl from Three steps through. She looks up at us, giving a stiff bow before walking over to the edible plants station, where I know she's spent the last few days. As expected, she flies through the course, matching everything up properly and allowing me to sit back and close my eyes. Memory seems to be the only thing Threes are ever good at.

Except for her District Partner, of course.

A _beep_ makes me open my eyes, and I see the girl walking away from the edible plants station to the snares tables. I groan inwardly. This girl and her ally spent even more of their time here, with Seven honestly being clearly better than the older girl.

At the tables, Infiniti grabs a few coils of wire, some weights, and various other objects and places them in a pile. Then she moves.

Her hands fly as she moves her objects around her workspace, placing items in different areas while leaving others in her pile. Suddenly, she sprints across the room, grabbing a few knives from the hand-to-hand station, and bringing them back. She retrieves various lengths of wood from the shelters station, different berries from the camouflage station, and starts weaving it all together at the fire-starting area.

She looks up at the clock, but she needn't have worried, unless it would take more than five minutes to finish her contraption.

Finally, she places a dummy in the opposite side of a fire pit as her device, and sits down with her back to it, the fire directly in front of her. She quickly reaches down, grabbing a small stake that I hadn't seen her place before. Then, she pulls.

The stake seems to vanish into a tree, and the sound of metal on metal can once again be heard. Something creaks, and a knife flies right past the girl's head, into the thigh of the dummy. Another soars above her, into its throat. The blades keep flying, a few missing the dummy but most landing kill shots.

Finally the machine audibly stops, and the girl stands. She turns to look at us, raising her hands slightly. She's smiling in relief, but then the trap starts again one last time and a knife flies out, burying itself into her left thigh.

I hear a soft gasp and a crash, and I imagine Quorra collapsing to the ground in terror. It's always amazed me how much Capitol citizens can't handle the sight of blood.

Trainers rush out to help the now fallen girl, who has tears rolling down her face as she internally debates whether or not she should pull the knife out. They place her onto a stretcher, carefully, and carry her to the infirmary. All goes quiet as the door closes behind them.

Kunai is looking at me in shock, but I just nod to him. He nods shakily, and pushes the button on the speaker.

"Jasper Blue."

The boy from Four enters, and I remember him being the one that hasn't hung with the Careers much at all during training. I also can't help but recall what had happened earlier today, when Mason from Two had thrown himself to the ground as Jasper tried to just get past them. It's always bored me when I got a perfect set of six Careers. That's why I usually take one or two out early.

He bows deeply, and I wonder again what in Panem he's doing here. Surely, he thought it'd be better to Volunteer in two years… Should make things interesting, I suppose.

He first heads over to the spear range, where the trainers worked to quickly clean up during Cordin's Session. The others had kinda hacked them to bits.

As expected, he picks the spears off the rack and begins to throw. All of them hit the target, save one, but other than that, they're really all over the place. One minute, they hit the throat and the heart, the next he's hitting the leg or the stomach. Not exactly Career-typical, but at least he appears to be trained.

After a boring few minutes, he stops, and I see him massaging his shoulder slightly. He grans his last spear, however, and heads over to the hand-to-hand. He doesn't seem to notice the missing knives.

The trainer himself wields a sword, allowing him quicker thrusts but less range than the boy from Four. Without speaking, they get into fighting stances, eying each other up. The trainer moves first.

As the slash comes across toward his torso, Four drops into a roll, under the sword and the trainer's left arm, his sword arm. The trainer jumps back, narrowly avoiding the thrust Four made for his shoulder as he regained his footing.

I'm not sure exactly when the shift of power changed, but it was rather obvious after about the seven minute mark, when Four swatted the sword aside, knocking it out of the trainer's hand. He stumbles, and Jasper uses the shaft of his spear to sweep his legs from underneath him. As his time runs out, Jasper is straddling the trainer, holding the spear's head to his throat.

"That is enough, Mr. Blue, you are dismissed." Kunai speaks firmly, and Four looks at us, fire in his eyes. He slowly stands, leaving the trainer where he is. Racking the spear, he walks out.

"Esmeralda Dawn."

The girl from Four saunters in, an arrogant look on her face. She looks up at us, catching my eye. Her grin broadens slightly as she winks, and she dips into a slight bow. I remain stoic, and her smile falters. It's back quickly however, and she turns, swinging her hips as she strides over to the knives.

As can be expected, she picks up several, throwing them at the dummies on the other side of the range. Bull's-eyes, of course, as she had done in the training days. It has appeared to me as though she has no specific weapon that she specializes in, which she demonstrates by leaving the knives range, and entering the sword fighting arena.

She fights the trainer for ten minutes, their blades clashing through the silence of the concrete training center. Constantly, she's pressing her body against the trainer, whether as their weapons lock or as she rolls by his leg.

 _She's one of_ those _tributes_ , I think. Sure enough, many of the other Gamemakers are leaned forward, their interest piqued. I roll my eyes. _There's always one_.

Come to think of it, that's usually an angle the Ones attempt to play into. The Twos and Fours don't try it nearly as often.

At last, probably aware that she's nearly out of time, she presses with a renewed vigor, bashing our trainer until he's on the floor, bleeding from several cuts, the point of Four's sword pressing into his chest.

"You are out of time, Ms. Dawn." Kunai's voice breaks through the sudden silence, and Four looks up at us. She bares her teeth, before turning her back on us. As she walks through the doors, I sigh.

"Get me some Peacekeepers. She's not supposed to carry a sword around until she's in the Arena." The barbarity of the Districts, I swear.

"Darius Line."

The boy from Five barely glances at us as he steps through the open doorway, and even then I'm pretty sure it was nothing more than a fiery glare. I've read the boy's file. I'll have to keep an eye on him, make him appear unpopular. But, of course, it can't be as obvious as a fix.

He stomps over to the hand-to-hand station, retrieving the same pole of ivory that he's been learning to use the past few days. From what I've seen, his anger has made him a natural in using it. Each blow the trainers have taken have been dealt with the strength of his fury.

Today, however, he ignores the sparring trainer in favor of the spear station target dummies. He stalks down the range, the staff in his right hand trailing slightly behind him. His eyes are closed, his steps even. Then, all at once, he lunges.

He gives a shout as he flies toward his target, and I'm thankful then we had to replace them with the dummies that sense injury. The ivory staff is moving fast, a grey-brown blur singing silently as the sounds from impact mingle with the boy's grunts and cries.

As I watch, the once pure white dummy gets pinker and pinker. The left side of the body, the head in particular, quickly turns an ugly red. Well, he could kill a tribute with all this brute force. But he wields it in anger more than skill.

The muffled _THWACK_ continues to echo through the Training Center for more then ten minutes. Five is clearly tiring, his form growing sloppier and his speed is failing rapidly. At last, feeling the end, he takes the staff in both hands, rearing back. He swings it like a club, right at the dummy's forehead.

A loud _CRACK_ resounds, as the ivory splinters, shards flying everywhere. What was a five-foot rod of pain, wielded by a child of desperation, is now an eighteen-inch sliver, sharp yet useless. Darius throws it at another dummy, and it clatters quietly on the stone floor. In a final cry of rage, he punches the dummy, having already sustained fatal injury, right in the nose. Several cracks confirm the breaking of several fingers. He leaves without another word, sobbing silently.

"Devon Rose."

The girl from Five slumps into the room, her shoulders drooped. She stops when she gets directly below us, her hands clasped behind her back, her eyes downcast.

"You may begin, Ms. Rose." She nods once, refusing to look up at us before turning away. She walks to the throwing knives, where she's been practicing the past couple days.

She grabs a few knives, of varying styles and lengths. Without hesitation, she begins to throw, the knives spiraling lazily through the air. The first one, a single sheet of metal with a ten inch blade, flips once through the air before hitting the dummy in the throat. The second, a six inch blade with a ruby handle, spins in a blur, sticking to the dummy's knee.

She throws and throws, the longer knives hitting the target every time. Nearly all would kill, or at least, seriously injure, a tribute. The shorter ones, however, are thrown with a lot less accurately. With luck, they'll inflict a small cut on an arm or leg, at best sticking. However, most fly right by, skipping across the floor with a series of clatters.

Her throws seem mechanical, without emotion or showmanship. Oft times, the audience in the Capitol prefers a tribute who can dazzle them with their skills, even as they slaughter malnourished children. If she plays like this in the Arena, her Sponsor pool will be limited to those who know about her child, and sympathize for her. If she refuses to play the Game, there's no way she can win.

At last, she tires, as her time runs out. Kunai dismisses her, and she slumps back out, seemingly accepting her defeat. She needs to care a little bit more if she wants to make it out alive.

"Aran Quade."

The boy from Six, who I must admit intrigued me when he was Reaped, marches through the door. He looks at us with a fury, one that matched the Five boy's. As far as I could tell, they didn't talk much, if at all, during training. Between them, the boy from Eleven and the girl from Thirteen, these Games are already filled with near-treasonous anger.

The boy stalks over to the swords station, selecting a short sword, double edged. He holds it in front of him as he steps into the fighting ring, leveled at the trainer the girl from Four beat up earlier. His cuts are no more than thin pink lines, however, his skin without bruises. Thankfully, we're dropping all the current trainers to hopefully hire some better ones.

Without pretense, Six lunges. The trainer, with a look of determination, steps forward, crossing his sword with the boy's. Six stumbles, but holds his ground. They stand there for several moments, swords locked, before Six moves.

He tucks out of the lock and into a roll, but it's clumsy, slow. As he stands, he's kicked to the floor, and a moan escapes as he collapses. The trainer's sword darts out, and Six rolls over, somehow avoiding the tip of the sword. He spins from his position, sweeping the feet from under his opponent. Relieved, he staggers to his feet.

But he lowered his guard. As he retrieves his sword, he cries out in pain, and collapses. The trainer stands, his sword abandoned in Six's leg. I sigh. He's served here for almost thirty years. His father longer. Now I have to fire another trainer who got overeager with a tribute.

Avoxes scamper to clean up the blood trailing the boy from Six, as he limps heavily. He cries out as he steps through the doorway.

"Jetta Carter."

The thin slip of a girl from Six walks through the door, blissfully unaware of her District Partner's wound. It may even be better before she reaches her floor, so I'm not worried. Railer and Kiara are perfectly aware of the required secrecy in regards to the Sessions.

She gives a shy curtsy, looking at us expectantly. I wave her off, and she nods. She looks around for a moment, as though unsure of what to do. It _really_ bugs me when tributes come in unprepared.

She walks in the direction of the edible plants station, and I raise an eyebrow. Six really isn't a place of plant life, and she barely touched plants during the training days.

She grabs a bamboo shoot, breaking it in half before carefully removing the remaining shards on one of the halves. She discards the other half, and takes it over to the knives station. After a moment, she selects a long, serrated dagger, proceeding to hollow out the tube. She takes her discarded half and cuts it, molding it into an open-ended cone. She inserts it in her bamboo, finishing her blowgun.

She collects some prefabricated darts, probably aware that she's on a time limit. She inserts one into her weapon, puts her mouth on her mouthpiece, and blows.

Clearly, she didn't clear out the whole tube, because the pressure from her lungs launches the dart, singing through the air until it _THUD_ s into one of the knife dummies.

She uses only twelve darts, each of them hitting the target, but only about half would have been any more than a nuisance.

After looking at the clock, she puts down her gun and goes to the fire station, collecting wood as she walks through. She takes her collection and sets it up under the dummy she had pricked a dozen times. She pulls a set of matches from her pocket, which I hadn't realized she had grabbed before. She lights her wood, coaxing it into a bright flame.

She watches it for a minute before walking back to us, waiting patiently for dismissal. Kunai obliges.

"Logan Woodson."

The boy from Seven, a massive, sandy-haired lumberjack like most of his predecessors, walks through the door in confidence, though his smile falters. He stands below us, looking up. "Logan Woodson." He says, "District Seven."

"You may proceed, Mr. Woodson." Seven nods once, walking straight for the axes. Would it kill them to try something else? I've gotten so bored with those the past few years…

As can be expected, he throws hatchets around for a while, and though he throws with an intense strength, only about half stick in the target, and even less land what would most likely be a killing blow.

After a couple dozen casts, and a hundred flinches from the Gamemakers at the sound of metal scraping the stone floors, Seven decides that he's done, but he doesn't put down his final hatchet. Instead, he heads over to the hand-to-hand, where the trainer just rolls his eyes.

Seven brandishes his weapon, holding it in his fist as one would a knife, about to slit someone's throat. The same way a well-placed punch can do serious damage. The trainer selects a spear this time, determined to not look bad in the face of another tribute. But Seven does not know this.

This time, the trainer moves first. His spear reaches out, and Seven dances out of his reach. The spear is retracted, and Seven moves in for the blow, but he's blocked, the tip of the spear resting on his shoulder. They look at each other.

The tribute bares his teeth for a moment before dropping the hatchet and ducking. Kneeling down, he holds his hand out to catch his fallen weapon, even as the spear arcs above him. Recovering, the trainer strikes down, biting into Seven's right shoulder. With a roar of rage, he swings the hatchet, the back side of the blade ramming into the trainer's knee.

There's a loud crack, and the trainer falls in a howl of pain.

"You are dismissed, Mr. Woodson."

 **"** Kenzi Williams."

Before she walks in, I already expect the girl from Seven to do the same things her ally did during her Session: edible plants and snares. That was really their only focus during training, and that's why I'm surprised to see her make her way to the camouflage station, where she begins to collect many jars and pans of stuff, her back to us.

We can't see exactly what she's doing, but she clearly isn't camouflaging herself. All we can see is her grabbing handfuls of dirt, pouring some water, plucking pinches of moss. After only five minutes, she turns around.

In her muddy hands, splattering over the floor and her training uniform, are half a dozen… mud pies.

Carefully, she walks over, being careful not to spill them. I know what she's doing, but I'm not about to stop her. That's what the force field was put up for all those years ago anyway.

With a mad glint in her eye, she takes the top pan, a messy concoction of an ugly brown sprinkled in a powdery red, and rears back. She doesn't hesitate, and throws it directly at Quorra, who is by far the most colorful and fake out of the rest of us. She screams, flinching back, but before it could impact, she launches another directly at me.

I must admit, she has a good throwing arm.

I barely blink as I watch it come toward my face, and by the time it bounces off the force field and back to the lumber girl, she's sprawled on the ground, having been struck down by the first pie she threw. The one intended for me sails harmlessly past her, and avoxes begin scurrying around to clean it up. They look like a nest of red hornets, moving in carefully crafted patterns and cleaning everything in their path. That's why they're dressed in red, here in the Capitol.

Peacekeepers enter through the exit doors, lifting the mud-splattered girl up and carrying her out, trying very hard not to get their gear dirty.

"Henry Reynoso."

The boy from Eight gives a curt nod as he heads to the survival stations. He doesn't stop, gathering materials as he goes from station to station: edible plants, poisons, camouflage. He grabs berries and nectar and bowls and even rocks, until he finally appears satisfied. He walks back over to us, his arms stuffed with supplies. I am surprised to find that many of these materials can actually be found in the Arena this year.

Probably coincidence.

He sets up two separate piles, one with nightlock, acid from a volcanic lake monster, legs from a desert centipede, et cetera, and another pile containing aloe vera stalks, dragon cacti, jungle leaves, and others.

He begins with the less threatening stuff. Carefully, he peels skin off of different plants, ripping them into little pieces and adding them to a bowl. I write down on a notepad everything he adds to his little brew, how he adds it, how much he added. Finally, he takes one of his rocks and mashes it all together, coming up with a thick, pink liquid. Looking down at my list, he should have created a substance that…

"This liquid here, is a medicine." He announces, "It will hold back infection when applied to a wound, and, if consumed, likely kill any infected cells within the body." I recognize it now. A tribute from Three invented this in the Arena a while back, perhaps a decade. Improved in Capitol labs, it became a cure for skin cancer.

I nod in approval, and he continues on to his next pile, grinding together roots, scales, the centipede legs. I take note of everything he turns into a powder, until he adds the acid from the lake monster and berries. Carefully pouring the chunky contents of his bowl into a jungle leaf, he folds it up like a present and presses it together between his hands. After a moment, he unrolls the leaf, and a white, speckled, totally _solid_ block tumbles to the ground.

"Once even partially dissolved, this substance will kill upon contact with the inside of the body. Cut up into little tablets, even a dosage that small can be snuck into someone's food and consumed."

"Have him send it up." I tell Kunai. He speaks into the comm, and a Peacekeeper, approaches the boy, who carefully hands him the poison. He then bows to us and departs.

"Tulle Salane."

The girl from Eight, the tall one with long, strawberry-blonde hair, steps through the door. Her head is bowed, and I can tell she's nervous. I'm not entirely sure, why, but she's predicted to make it far this year. Let's see if she can prove why.

Eight walks to the camouflage station, where her Partner collected many of his materials for that miracle medicine and death pill. I'm still having the labs examine the poison.

She sets to work, taking materials and bowls, ignoring some while collecting several others. She grinds them all into pastes, her back to us. The scene is incredibly familiar, and I recall the girl from Seven making her pies like that. I smile at the memory created a half hour earlier.

Eight's arms, however, are clearly painting her face in a series of greens and browns. Finally, she steps back, keeping her back to us.

"We are going to play a little game." She calls, though she's still quiet. "You are all going to close your eyes, and I'm going to hide somewhere in the training center. When I say, you are going to open your eyes and try to spot me. The game doesn't end until you've all found me or I run out of time. Ready?"

The others look at me, unsure of what to do. I shrug at them, closing my eyes and bowing my head. I hear the ruffle of feathers and the scrapes of jewels and know they're following suit. There's silence in the room for several moments.

"Okay!" She calls, "I'm ready!"

As I raise my head, I see that the gym is, by all appearances, empty. There is no trace that the textile girl was ever there, her station neat, clean. I search, my eyes looking for anything out of place. I find nothing for several minutes.

Naturally, Quorra is the first to gasp, "I found her! Sir, I've found her!" I follow her gaze to the tree-climbing station, where the outline of a girl is pressed against the tallest tree, about halfway up. I can really only see her arms holding her in place, but after I blink they look like branches.

I pull up a screen, giving me the same view I have from my seat. Using two fingers, I zoom in on the girl, and I find that her camo is nearly flawless, save for the shaking of her limbs.

The timer goes off, and she opens her eyes. She melts from the tree, climbing from limb to limb until she hits the ground. She bows once more before departing.

"Thanatos Rize."

The boy from Nine glides into the room, calm and confident. He nods to us in acknowledgement before striding over to the edible plants station. Like many of the tributes before him, he grabs bowls and powders and berries and acids.

After a few moments, he stands back, surveying his work. Apparently satisfied, he walks over to the spears station, selecting a scythe from one of the racks. I lean forward slightly. He avoided that station in training.

After getting a feel for it, running his hand over the four-foot handle, the eighteen-inch blade, he makes his way back to his concoction. Carefully coating the blade in this substance, he makes sure to not touch the blade or the liquid.

He surveys his work, before walking silently to the hand-to-hand simulator. He inputs his settings, and steps in.

Once again, the Gamemakers' box goes dark, the force field becoming a projection of the simulator. Nine stands on the platform, scythe at the ready. His skin glows pale as the lights in the simulator go dark, and mist fills the room.

The first mutt leaps at him from the mist: A winged rattlesnake, a favorite from the One-Hundred Twelfth Games. It hisses as it soars toward the tribute boy, and he swings up at it, his blade barely cutting into the wing on the mutt. It spirals into the darkness, howling.

The next monster to emerge is a snarling silver wolf, from somewhere in the forties. They circle each other, gauging the other. Finally, it leaps. Nine ducks, and, a short flurry of flashing silver later, the wolf is on the ground, guts spilling off the platform.

The snake returns soon after, but it's moving sluggishly. Nine ignores it in favor of another wolf, and the reptile dies in silence. The mantra continues for a few minutes, until he's cut down a total of five wolves and five snakes. They lie on the ground around him, as the lights come on and the mist fades.

He hands the blade to an avox on his way out, and she makes sure to handle it very carefully.

"Harvest Miller."

The door opens, and we watch for the girl from the grain District. The trainer that opens the door for the Tributes steps out instead, shaking her head, arms raised.

"She isn't in here." She calls up.

I growl slightly in frustration. "Thanks Gaia." She nods respectively, stepping back. The door drops as she disappears.

"An absence _does_ warrant a _zero_ , right?" A voice asks from down the line. I stand, glaring over at the speaker, who turns out to be Quorra. She hasn't been here long enough to give such scores, nor have I. It's certainly been awhile. I wave to the avoxes, who scurry out.

"Normally, yes." I say, to my coworkers' confusion. "But this year is different. This girl, _Harvest Miller_ , was a "fix" in the Reaping bowls this year. The President himself gathered intelligence of Wheat Miller's attempts to spy for his little _rebellion_. We have instructions to make sure she dies in that Arena, but make it seem as though she has a chance. We must place a target on her back with a score of _ten_ or higher."

"But we can't even score her if she's not here. The other tributes will know that she wasn't here." Kunai pitches in.

"I suspect that was her plan." I acknowledge. "But she wasn't expecting our young man from Three to not show up either, yet still get a score. We can just pretend she pulled off the same trick, only better."

They nod in approval, though I didn't need it. I'll have to do something to reward that boy. He might have saved my skin.

"Denny Rico."

The boy from Ten steps in, standing awkwardly before us. Kunai speaks to him, because his mentor clearly didn't tell him what to do.

"You have fifteen minutes to prove your ability to us. With your performance you will later today receive a score between zero and twelve. You may begin." He nods once, shakily, before making his way to the fire-making station. From there, he collects a series of thin sticks, then heads over to the hand-to-hand simulator. He throws together his settings, and steps inside.

Our box goes dark, and the familiar projection appears again. However, Ten is standing in the center of a field, the sun bright and large. A small coyote, regular by all appearances, is stalking through the grass toward Ten.

Looking at my info panel, it is, in fact, a normal, run-of-the mill coyote.

Ten sits down, crossing his legs. He acts as though he doesn't see the animal, which is of course impossible among the stubby plants. His eyes are closed, his hands palm-up, resting on his knees. He waits for a moment, until the coyote strikes.

He ducks, grabbing a thicker stick from his pile on the ground. As it flies over him, he bends the stick back, allowing it to smack the dog in the side. It howls, rounding as it lands, teeth bared.

Ten is standing now, wielding a long piece of wood in each hand. The coyote doesn't hesitate, launching itself toward the boy. He sidesteps, allowing the sticks to drag a long cut into the canine's side. It howls again, limping to a corner, defeated, broken.

"You are dismissed, Mr. Rico." He gets up, sobbing quietly. He quickly exits the simulator, and leaves.

"Cheyenne Bruno."

The girl from Ten enters the room, shoulders sagged, head down. She looks up at us as she passes, nodding once before she makes it to the shelters station.

She pauses a moment, examining the materials before her. Then she moves, her hands flying around the table, gathering twine and leaves and tarps. She moves her things to the building area, and gets to work.

She quickly scales a tree, tarp and twine clutched tightly. With the speed that caught the Capitol's attention, she rigs up the tarp like a hammock, about twenty feet above the ground. She weaves around the trunk like an ant, never tiring or stopping. In minutes, she's finished her hammock, covering it with jungle leaves to hide it as much as possible. She looks up at the clock, and I yawn. Why does this have to take so long every year?

She looks at me mid-yawn, and gives a small glare. I stare at her, cocking an eyebrow. If she wants my attention, she should do something worthy of it. _Earn it, girl_.

As though understanding my thoughts, she stalks over to the knives station, picking a long, serrated dagger from the piles. She tests the edge, and I yawn again. Why do the outer Districts try to play Career? She really isn't all that terrifying. She's only thirteen!

She motions to the trainer, who reluctantly steps forward. Before he's even taken a stance, she's on him, knife flashing in the brightly lit room. The trainer blocks, again and again, as she dances around him. Neither combatant can seem to tip the scales, regardless of how fast or skilled they are. After a couple minutes, however, small cuts begin to form as Ten's adrenaline wears off. I must say, she can hold her own, albeit a few minutes.

She leaves, clearly exhausted and in pain, as she is dismissed.

"Thorn Ashburry."

The boy from Eleven makes a beeline for the knives station, ignoring us completely. He motions to a Peacekeeper by the door, one with his helmet on, as is standard in the Capitol. The Peacekeeper nods only once, before removing the gun from his holster, dropping it on the ground. He draws his baton, and advances slowly.

Eleven continues to look through the knives, until he finds a kukri. The curved handle is short, rubber. The blade widens as the tip nears, then stops in a sharp point. The boy brandishes it at the Peacekeeper, anger glowing in his eyes.

They walk toward each other, their weapons brandished. The Peacekeeper removes his helmet, dumping it unceremoniously to the floor. His dark face is baring his teeth, and I recognize him as one from Two. He meets the much smaller boy in the middle of the room, glaring. Then he steps again.

Eleven leaps, a roar of anger ripping through his lungs. His knife cuts across the Peacekeeper's forearm, revealing the armor underneath. He swings back as he turns, earning him a cut across his right cheek. The man, clearly angry, throws the baton away, and cracks his knuckles.

"Come here, you slippery little-" He reaches out, egging Eleven on. The thirteen-year-old boy still has that fury in his gaze, and he charges.

He ducks the first blow, cutting across his opponent's palm. He rolls between the Peacekeeper's legs, avoiding a second, then takes the third in the shoulder as he begins to stand. He's lying there on the floor as another fist comes flying at his face. He swings, leaving the blade embedded in the Peacekeeper's fist.

Eleven is laughing. Laughing at the older man's pain. Laughing at the look on his face. He laughs and laughs even as the Peacekeeper strikes him in the ribcage, arm, temple. The last one shuts him up.

It's the Peacekeeper's turn to laugh as he picks the boy up, throwing his broken form over his shoulder and walking out. Hopefully to the infirmary.

"Willow Orchids."

The girl from Eleven enters, after her District Partner is removed. She looks up at us as she passes, never breaking her stride as she bows. She walks over to the camouflage station, where she mashes substances together and paints her face and arms. From there, she walks over to the forested area of the shelters station.

With a quick glance back at us, she dives into the trees and disappears.

We watch for a moment, though I'm not sure what for. Maybe to let her hide, perhaps to see if she pulls any tricks. But nothing happens.

I pull up my screen, and the others do the same. We look through the trees, through the hidden cameras dotting them. But there is no sign of the little girl from the agriculture District. I decide at last to look down from my screen, knowing that searching the trees would be fruitless.

I can't help but start when I catch sight of a small, slight figure crawling across the rungs in the ceiling, making her way to the rock climbing wall. She lands atop it nimbly, stretching her hands slightly before beginning to climb down. The other Gamemakers lower their screens one by one in interest, and she bows again when she reaches the bottom.

She looks at the clock, and, deciding she still has time, heads over to the edible plants station, and starts up the plants test.

For the final few minutes of her Session, the girl from Eleven goes through the test, finishing just as her time runs out. Her score of 97% is projected plainly for us to see, and she winks at me before departing.

"Soot Maloy."

The young boy from the mining District enters the room, though he seems nervous. Understandable, considering how he's predicted to go down in the first few minutes, his odds placed at 74-1. Then again, the general populace isn't aware of how accepting my Careers have been toward him. That would likely boost his odds.

He looks up at us, twenty-six Gamemakers capable of dealing swift death in an Arena he hasn't seen yet. He has a right to be shaking, I should think.

He gives a shy wave before leaving for the edible plants station, one I've found to be a favorite among the Twelves. Even with the boy's mentor, seven years ago.

He sorts through the different plants, I assume to refresh his memory. It takes a couple minutes, seemingly longer than he was hoping. Which is probably why he soared through the test, yet only earning an 81%. Not too bad, but worse than he needed.

He leaves in frustration, more than likely aware of how much his survival depends on his score, especially in the Career Pack. He wanders over to the shelters station, where he takes various lengths of rope, canvas and leaves. Laying them on the floor, he proceeds to the fire making station, collecting a long, thin yet strong length of near-straight wood.

Back at his chosen supplies, he props up the stick, laying the canvas over it. The ropes lash around the canvas, wrapped around the stick in the middle. At around three and a half feet high, the formidable teepee stands proud, the boy from Twelve surveying his handiwork.

"You are out of time, Mr. Maloy."

"Keola Foeba."

The girl from Twelve stumbles into the room, giving a pathetic little cough as she does so. There are tears in her eyes, and I hear her whisper something. She sees us, and cowers slightly. I incline my head, staring down at her. She flinches at this, and I wonder how she managed to enter the alliance with the Tens.

She shuffles to the snares station, looking around for the materials she had planned for. She grabs lengths of rope, of various lengths and thicknesses. Her fingers fumble as she ties her things, but eventually she steps back to show us her work. Multiple different knots, lashes, even a heavy noose lie on the table, weapons of survival and death.

She looks up at us, before a hacking cough rips through her body. I don't blink, sure it will pass, but it doesn't. She collapses to the floor as her lungs dispel all her air, and she begins to gasp for breath. She's lying on the floor, curled up in a ball, as nurses from the infirmary storm in, swarming the miner girl.

After a moment, they apply cream to her temples and throat, and she stops hyperventilating. Shakily, she gets to her feet, and the medical crew step back. She nods to them, and they leave. Almost as though it was a dream.

The girl takes a moment to breathe, but that fiasco hasn't earned her any time. I'm not staying here any longer than I absolutely have to.

Twelve, apparently deciding she's steady, walks off toward the edible plants station, firing up the testing system. Another Twelve at the plants test. Really.

She seems to be a lot more patient than her Partner, and so she doesn't manage to finish the test before she runs out of time. Of what she did finish, however, she manages a 92%. It really is a shame she had to have that fit right in the middle of things.

"Sparky Montgomery."

The boy from Thirteen walks in, looking around in awe, as though he hasn't been here the past few days. He doesn't scream, nothing. Just stares around. Maybe this kid isn't insane after all.

That is what I thought before he dug himself a hole at the fire making station, and promptly falls asleep. A Peacekeeper on duty carefully removes the boy's glasses before kicking him, over and over until he wakes up screaming. He leaves, yelling obscenities at us, the Capitol, the Games. I shake my head. District savages.

"Rebelle Rine."

The girl from Thirteen comes in skipping. Like, literally skipping. She bows to us joyfully, before continuing over to the swords station. It's amazing how many children of Victors we have this year. The Capitol is loving the drama over it.

She picks an elegant rapier from the station, the handle studded with rubies. She takes a moment to get a feel for it, allowing me time to think.

 _No matter what she deserves, you can't give her more than a six._ The President's voice echoes through my mind. _If she's gunned down at the Cornucopia because the Careers perceived her to be a threat, there will be riots in Eleven as well as the Capitol. You have to remove as many targets from her back as possible, Mars. I'm trusting you with this._

That's my least favorite part of the job, but I'll manage.

The girl finds her way to some target dummies, and flashes the sword, amputating their arms before befalling the head. The next dummy is taken similarly, its head rolling across the concrete.

On the third, she dances around it, inflicting small wounds all over the body. Her feet weave in and out of her satanic circle, her sword singing through the air. Her footwork is rather impressive, which could be showcased better against a real opponent. No matter. It appears as though she's trained for this, which explains her Volunteering.

As she continues her pointless showcase of swordsmanship, my mind wanders. What lies did this girl's adoptive parents tell her convince her to go into the Games? If it was to get her back to her mother, they could have taken her to a Peacekeeper and asked for a DNA test. If they encouraged her for the riches, they could have accepted the reward for her return. The Capitol would have loved that reunion.

But is it really my job to speculate? No, I suppose not. Her fiery determination and arrogance will likely get her killed in the Games, and by then it won't matter. Thirteen will not have another Quell Victor this year, I have next to no doubt.

As the young girl departs, leaving behind a room of pink fluff and plastic, I allow my thoughts to drift off to Crysta, the Victor of the Games thirteen years ago.

I'll have to ask her over for tea before her daughter falls. She might refuse if I wait until after.

* * *

 **I hate to do this, but I have deleted those who haven't chosen a tribute yet. For some of you, I am certain that you've been reading, certain that you would have loved to do this, but you didn't. I hate myself for it, but I can't let the Sessions produce bias for a tribute. Some of the scores, as you saw, were total flukes, a trick of the Gamemakers. You might change your mind with what you have learned, and I just can't have that.**

 **I'm so sorry about how long this took, it was really hard to make these Sessions as unique as possible.**

 **dreams and desperation: 153 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 79 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **caitiebug007: 85 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **roses burning: 88 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 167 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 95 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 105 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male**_ **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 59 (** _ **Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male**_ **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 160 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **Jaybird8101: 130 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female**_ **)**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Queens and a Pawn (152 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (152,** _ **dreams and desperation**_ **), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).**

 **Reluctance (72 points): Infiniti (3) (72,** _ **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans**_ **), and Kenzi (7).**

 **Brains and Brawn (105 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (105,** _ **Clis2339**_ **).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (160 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (160,** _ **Mystical Pine Forest**_ **), and Keola (12).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Loners!**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (173) (85,** _ **catiebug007**_ **) (88,** _ **roses burning**_ **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Aran (6) (167) (167,** _ **ElvenRangerRysel**_ **)**

 **Logan (7) (95) (95,** _ **JaymanRepublic**_ **)**

 **Tulle (8)**

 **Harvest (9)**

 **Thanatos (9) (59) (59,** _ **Wolfie McCoy**_ **)**

 **Rebelle (13) (130) (130,** _ **Jaybird8101**_ **)**

 **Sparky (13)**

 **Questions!:**

 **Which mentors are mentoring which tributes?**

 **Seeing any clear Bloodbaths yet? (Don't mention your own tributes, if yours were submitted Blodbaths, please)**

 **Which of these Careers do you think will leave first, if you know what I mean?**

 **How many do you think will fall in the Bloodbath? Who? (I've already planned this, against my better judgement. So don't worry about manipulating me, or whatever y'alls problem is.)**

 **Do some of the training scores make sense now?**

 **Which ones should have truly been higher? Lower?**

 **Who do you think we'll be seeing in the interviews?**

 **Peace!**


	24. Stories Behind Faces- Interviews Pt One

**So! Here's the Interviews! I decided last-second to split this chapter into two parts, sorrynotsorry. I just saw that it was getting too long, so here we are!**

 **Reviews!**

 **dreams and desperation: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, though I must admit, it was a pain to write. Thanks for the review!**

 **In** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my only remaining tribute, Atalanta, has made the Top 11, having been confirmed to survive Day 11 (at least to the death recap). And things are getting** _ **CRAAAAAZYYYYYY**_ **! Check it out!**

 **Also, the author of** _ **Forest of Death**_ **, TranscendentElvenRanger, has opened up submissions for** _ **Toxic Play: The 55**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **. You can find more info on her profile.**

 **Also! Though she's not technically in the Games, in** _ **Make Me a Match: The 125**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my D2 Female, Bellona Terminus, is, well… still in the Selection, I suppose. You'll understand it better if you check it out!**

* * *

Cassia Maurise, Age 18, District 2

District Two Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen of Panem, the stars in this year's Summer Festival! We've trained them, scored them, and paraded their legacy. But now it's time to read the stories behind the cover of their District faces. Let's give a hearty round of applause for ooooooouuuuuuur trrrrrrrriiiiiibuuuuuuutesssss!" There's a smattering of applause, and the techs back stage begin to usher us out. Malaya goes first, Marcus following a moment after. Then I'm showed to the stage.

I'm hit hard with the sound of thunder, accompanied by the brightness of a lightning strike. The bitter-sweet scent of a million perfumes flows through the air. Still not as bad as the Parade, though.

I look around, seeing the Ones still walking up to their seats. My face is being projected behind them, on the massive screen that makes up the whole wall to their backs. As I watch, Mason's appears, pumping his fists in the glory of it.

I take the seat beside Marcus, who ignores my presence. He's staring out into the crowd, smiling and waving, Malaya doing the same. I bare my teeth at them before raising my fists for the crowd. I think the cheering grows louder.

Mason sits down on my left, in a tailored suit of grey and black. His hair is slicked back, his eyes bright. He takes no notice as I glance at him, the way he acts like he's already won. As much as I have to respect his bravery for Volunteering, he isn't Brutus. He isn't Rage, or Scream. He's not a Victor, though he'd kill me for mentioning it. He won't be the next Two Victor.

Not if I have a say.

The girl from Seven walks out as the cheering begins to die down, and Julius laughs again. "Yes! Let's hear it for Malaya! Marcus! Cassia! Mason! Infiniti! Cordin! Esmeralda! Jasper! Devon! Darius! Jetta! Aran! Kenzi! Logan! Tulle! Henry! Harvest! Thanatos! Cheyenne! Denny! Willow! Thorn! Keola! Soot! Rebelle! Aaaaaand, Sparky!" The cheers erupt again, getting quiet as the boy from Thirteen, the youngest in the Games this year, takes his seat.

Julius stands, talking about last-minute chances for the tributes, hoping to catch reaction shots from those of us who don't have such good survival odds. Currently, I'm at 4-1, like Mason. And they have the audacity to predict me second. I'm sorry, but no.

As I wait for Julius' bluster to just _end_ , I can't help but fiddle with my dress. Before the Games, I was always forced to wear my training gear. I had simply no other choice. Clothes as nice as the bright red dress, my arms actually bare for once, my form showing from the tightness of it all, is an accommodation foreign to me. The black lace choker around my neck is extremely constricting, and I have to fight the urge to rip it off.

I imagine the black makeup around my eyes, the deep red lipstick, and nearly curl my face in disgust. My hair is up, silver pins keeping it in place, tipped in rubies. A few stray curls of auburn hang on either side of my head, but I'm fine.

"Now, let's welcome to the stage, Malaya Garnet!" The crowd erupts as my ally from One stands, her long dress peach colored, her orange hair braided around her hair like a crown, studded with flowers made out of the gem that is her namesake. A garnet brooch of the same shape is pinned to her chest.

"Malaya! How are you, my dear, how are you?" Julius' speech is light, yet heavy with accent. He leans forward as Malaya takes her seat, looking eager. I must admit, she is beautiful. That should hopefully keep us supplied until it's time for her to die. Like the rest of them.

She gives her little laugh. "Well, Julius, I'm afraid I couldn't be better! I've never seen a place as beautiful as this, it's so nice to have a change in scenery." She laughs again, and Julius plays along.

"Oh, yes, my home is quite beautiful, isn't it folks?" He looks out to the crowd, and they cheer. I can't see anybody through the lights, and I wonder if Malaya and Julius can. "What has interested you the most thus far, my dear?"

Her smile brightens. "Oh Julius, have you even _seen_ the people here? There are so many colors, such wonderful fashion trends and ideas! I mean, I saw a few women with _bird cages_ on their heads!"

Julius laughs. "Yes, yes, an idea thought up by the President himself." The crowd cheers. "But really, enough about my home, Malaya. What about you? How's your family at home? Are they worried about you being in the Games?"

"Oh Julius, I think you underestimate my capabilities. My parents are proud of me for representing the District in this year's Games, and when I become Victor, District One will know glory like it hasn't in years. I. Will. Win."

"Oh, I love your enthusiasm, Ms. Garnet. May luck be by your side, carrying you through the Games."

"Oh, I don't need luck Julius. I'll be back to talk to you again in a few weeks." The buzzer goes as she finishes, and she allows Julius to kiss her cheek before she stands, blushing. She flows back to her seat, a smile on her face.

"Now dear Marcus, why don't you come on down here!" Marcus stands from beside me, buttoning his white tuxedo. There's a wave of sound, like women fainting. He fixes his golden tie, a match to his hair and eyes. His eyes are filled with confidence, his stature and stride calm and relaxed. He's from District One, after all.

"So Marcus, let's get to the point. How do you feel going into the games?" Julius asks. Marcus shrugs.

"I'm confident, of course. But I hope I can last." He answers.

Julius nods slowly, "And, how do you feel about your family?" he asks.

"I want to go home to them, but if I don't make it, they can handle themselves. They're strong." Marcus replies, again. Julius seems slightly worried at this point. These aren't the answers he was looking for.

"Do you have any loved ones at home, any girls?" he pushes.

Marcus looks at him, giving him a small stare. "No… I don't." The audience gives a small sigh of relief. I know what happened to many Victors, like the Xerces siblings, or Finnick Odair. It's no secret among the Career Districts, and Marcus fits the bill.

"What about that nine in training?" Julius tries.

"It really isn't that impressive. I'm one of four to get one. I'm just going to have to prove in the Arena that I deserved a higher score." The monotone voice he's using isn't to Julius' liking, and I'm sure he's relieved when the buzzer finally sounds.

As Marcus sits down, face stony, I hear Julius calling my name. I stand slowly, bowing to the cheering crowd below me. I'm a Two. I scored a ten. I better act like it.

I glide down the steps, Julius holds out his hand. I accept it when I reach him, and he guides me down to my seat.

I still can't see the audience from here, but I _can_ see the Victors' viewing box. Moara's up there, drunk to the hilt. I couldn't have asked for a more useless mentor.

"Cassia Maurise! What a pleasure it is to have you here on my stage! Such a pleasure, of course!"

I cock my head slightly, allowing a smile to creep across my face. "Well, Julius, the pleasure is all mine, for sure. Not everybody gets to speak with you here, and even fewer give you the honor of speaking to a future Victor. I'm more than happy to provide that for you." I smile again, and he laughs.

"Oh, and we all thank you so much for this given opportunity. Tell me though, Cassia. We all watched with baited breath as you Volunteered. Didn't we?" The crowd's cheers arise again, and Julius laughs harder. "Seriously, though… Cassia. What prompted you to Volunteer, exactly?"

I smile as the answer forms on my lips, the hours of interview lessons with Roz giving my face an expression of dream-like bliss. "It's always been a bit of a dream of mine, and now it's a reality and it still feels so... surreal, but I'm loving it!"

"And we're glad you're enjoying your experience! We, here in the Capitol, are super excited to have you. But Cassia. You're not here to our beautiful city, you're here to compete, yes?" I give a small nod, and he continues. "Cassia, why are you here? What, exactly, are you planning to do, should you win?"

"I'm sure you'll have to find out for yourself Julius." I wink, "After all, I'll be the third Victor from Two in a row. I won't be fading from your eye for a great while, I think." As much as I've hated the idea, I came to terms with the fame a while ago. I'll likely be on everyone's lips until the next Quell.

"Cassia, you tease! What about the Arena? The Games?"

"That's something you'll have to see too. My weapons are ready to fly, and the twenty-five children behind me each have their name on one of my blades." I smile, imagining the faces of some of the younger tributes. Julius just laughs.

"Well, I'm sure we'll be speaking again, Ms. Maurise."

* * *

Tulle Salane, Age 15, District 8

District Eight Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"Let's have another round for Mason Lepodolite! Yes!" The crowd roars as the boy from Two stands, but I have to shudder. His description of how he was going to murder any tribute who stands in his way, especially ones who made him look bad, is still vivid in my head. I tried to help Cheyenne, but now I have to imagine the sword darting for my throat.

"Now, please welcome to the stage, Infiniti Reagan!" Another smattering of applause as the girl from Three stands, walking past the Careers to the stairway. Her short, almost business dress is a forest green, with matching three-inch heels. She stumbles slightly, but doesn't fall, despite Mason's best efforts. Her brown hair, streaked with blonde, flows freely down her shoulders and back.

"Infiniti, welcome! How are you, yes, how are you? And, of course, looking positively _radiant_ tonight! Isn't that right, folks?" Another cheer as the girl sits down, looking slightly uneasy.

"Oh yes, Infiniti. I, like most people here, am quite interested in learning a thing or two about you! What's your home like?"

The girl on stage takes a moment to think before answering, "Well, Julius, as you know, District Three is a place of inventions. Where the "smart" ones live. My family is part of Three's upper class, which really isn't saying much. My mother has engineered many of the equipment used in many of the Districts today. My father himself designed the idea for the new hydro generators in the dams of District Five."

"Sounds like a family of geniuses, yours is! How about friends, Infiniti? Anyone… _special_ watching back in Three?"

I can almost hear the grin plastered to her face. "There are, of course, my friends Lacy and Bo. And my little brother Riker. He's eleven, and so excited to see my home in the Victor's Village! Just as excited as I am!"

"Well, Infiniti, I'm sure the other Victors from your District will be just as happy as you to see another house in the Village taken. Good luck to you, my dear." Julius bows his head as he stands, taking Infiniti's hand.

"I'm going to take that and run, Julius." She says as she makes her way back to her seat.

"Infiniti Reagan, everyone! Yes!" The crowd cheers again, and Julius announces, "Now. Mr. Cordin Bolt, of District Three!" The boy from Three stands, bowing to his District Partner as she reclaims her seat. He passes her, Districts One and Two, before mounting the steps, walking down to the host.

"Yes, yes, Cordin." Julius begins, "Tell me, Cordin. What've you been doing since you came to the Capitol?" He asks.

"Well, Julius," he starts, "I've been training, of course. I'm pretty sure that, with my wickedly fast charm, and even faster reflexes, any weapon I can get ahold of at this point could take on any of the Careers." He snorts, and I wonder what on Earth he's talking about. He only touched knives in training, after all.

"Of course, of course. And, ah, what about that training score then, eh? That was quite the handsome eight. Care to tell us what you did to earn such a _wondrous_ score?"

Cordin cocks his head slightly, fiddling with the cuff of his purple tux. "I've been told we're not supposed to tell, Julius, but you can keep a secret, right?" Julius nods eagerly, and Cordin leans into him. "I _hid_ what I can actually do." The Capitol crowd gasps, and the girl from Nine two seats to my right groans. I can't help but agree. How much of this is just empty bluster?

"Please welcome: Esmeralda Dawn!"

The girl from Four slips past her allies behind me, to my right, a wicked grin on her face. Her dress, extremely short, is far too tight for my liking. A deep purple, I'm just glad what's important is at least covered.

As she takes her seat, she delicately brushes a loose curl from her face, one of many resulting from her messy bun.

"Esmeralda! Welcome, welcome! Yes, Esmeralda, what do you think of your odds against your fellow tributes, eh?" Julius' voice is filled with joy, and I resist a snort of disgust. We're _children_.

"Please, Julius, call me Mera. After all, all my friends do. And really, doesn't that include my dear friends here in the Capitol?" There's a cheer, the people lusting after the girl from the fishing District. After today, every Capitolian will be calling themselves personal friends of the girl from Four. Popularity _is_ their thing, after all.

"And to answer your question, there's no need to look at the odds, Julius. We all know of my capabilities, and how they match up to the others. Just look at my score. And really, I deserved an eleven. I will be wearing the crown in _one_ week, trust me. These Games are going to be short and gruesome." She gives a laugh, Julius joining her.

"But you're not the only high scorer this year, Mera." Julius says, and I can see the concern in his face. "Besides you, there were two other tens, four nines, and various eights and sevens. Aren't you just a little bit worried?"

She raises her chin, puffing her chest ever so slightly. "Do not underestimate me, Julius." She turns around. "And that goes for all of you, too. When the gong rings, you better _run_." I shiver again as her eyes meet mine, and I look away.

"Jasper Blue! Might I say, what a nice suit you have there? Did you steal that from my dressing room?" He asks, gesturing to his own navy blue tux. He raises an eyebrow, his black hair bouncing slightly.

"Of course not, Julius! Ariellana designed this herself! See the chain underneath?" He raises his arm, folding back his right cuff. The glint of metal catches my eye, and Julius laughs.

"Ah, yes, Ariellana. Good memories, her and I. But really, we can talk about your stylist at the Victory Ceremony! I want to know about you! Jasper, tell me about your family."

"Before we go on Julius, please, call me Blue. And please, let's not talk about that. Anything but that." His head and shoulders fall, and Julius does his best to change the direction of the conversation.

"Well, okay then, _Blue_ , what about your allies this year? What're your thoughts on them?"

He perks up at this, and says, "Actually, I'm not going to be fighting within the traditional Career alliance this year." He says, to the astonishment of the audience. "I've found someone better." He turns around, looking at Henry and me. I look to my right at Henry, who's smiling. I look back at Blue, and smile too.

"Yes, I had heard rumors of an alliance, but I wasn't sure whether or not to put stock in them. I'm excited to see your alliance play through the Arena, Blue."

"From District Five, Devon Rose!"

The girl from Five stands from her seat behind Cheyenne from Ten, and makes her way toward my side of the stage. As she walks around me, I take notice of the long black dress, hugging tight to her body. Her hair, diamonds studding the curls. A black lace choker, shockingly similar to Cassia's. She brushes past me, down the steps and into her chair.

"Sweet, sweet Devon! What's going on this lovely evening, Ms. Rose?" Julius kisses her hand, looking into her eyes. I think she stares back.

"Well, Julius. I'm here, talking to you, of course!" She gives an airy laugh. She'd rather not be here, I can tell. "Just like all the fin tributes behind me. Nothing interesting really happens until tomorrow."

Julius laughs, his usual, cringe worthy laugh. "Ah, yes, of course. And we are honored to have such a brilliant young lady here on stage, isn't that right folks? Yes!" Julius seems to own a crowd I cannot see, and I begin to wonder if there's anybody real even there. "Now Devon. The Sixth Quarter Quell starts tomorrow, yes? What can we be expecting of you at the end of the countdown?"

"Well, Julius, I can tell you that I'll do whatever I need to do in order to survive. I hate to say it, but none of these people behind me will be returning home in anything but a wooden box. Unlike them, I have a lot at stake." She says lightly, as though she doesn't care. As though she's hiding something.

"Oh? And what kind of things do we have "at stake," as you put it?" Julius questions.

"Every tribute here has something to go home to, Julius. Family and friends who care for them. However, I highly doubt any of them have their own child patiently waiting for their mother to walk through the door."

There's a collective gasp as the Capitol crowd realizes the stakes Devon has in these Games. She isn't the first to have a child before the Arena, but they sound as though it's never happened. Anything for the drama, I suppose.

"A child? Oh, Devon, what's his name?" It's clear that Julius already knows the answer to this, he referred to the child as a "he," after all.

"Ori. His name is Ori. And he's the one who's going to get me through these Games." The crowd roars, in pride and sadness. _A mother doesn't belong in the Games_ , they're thinking. But do they really care? They sent a pregnant woman in over a decade back.

"Darius Line! Come down here, Darius!"

The boy from Five stands as his District Partner takes her seat. As she did, he walks toward me, the last tribute in the front row. His orange suit makes him appear as though he's on fire, what with the rubies studding his coat in the pattern of flames. There's fire in his eyes, too, as he takes his seat.

"Hello, Darius Line! Welcome to my stage, on the night before what promises to be a truly extraordinary Games! Tell me, Darius, what has been your impression on the Capitol so far?"

Darius looks out over the crowd, and I imagine the fire again. "The people here are much different then back in Five. At home, we wear our school or work clothes. Here, you all seem to be competing for the most outrageous, brightly colored getup you can get your hands on." He sounds bored, almost resigned.

"Ah, yes, my people certainly enjoy their trends, don't they?" Julius acknowledges. "Who knows? Maybe after you win, they'll be dressing like the people in _your_ home, Darius."

"That would be ridiculous."

"Ha! A man of few words. I must say, Darius, I do admire your determination. And we all admire your courage!" Cheers ring out again, and Julius looks relieved when the buzzer sounds. "Ladies and gentleman, Darius!"

"Now let's give a warm welcome to Jetta Carter!"

Jetta makes the mistake of standing before Darius makes it back to his seat, and she's forced to step back as he strides past. Her dress shines silver, the diamonds under her eyes shimmering. Like a star.

When at last she finds her way to Julius, he points it out. "My, Jetta. Don't you just look like a _star_ tonight?" She looks down at her dress, and I can't hear her reply.

"No need to be shy here, we're all friends!" Julius cries out, "Tell me, Jetta. You ready for the Games tomorrow? I'm sure you'll just _shine_!"

Jetta looks up at him, and I think she's shaking. "I don't know." She says, "I don't want anything to happen. I'm scared." She doesn't shy away again, though, just stares out at the crowd.

"Ah, yes, perfectly normal, I assure you. But no need to fear, Jetta. I'm sure you'll win this year!" He makes it sound as though she's fought in the Games before. But I think he's talking about the District.

"Maybe." She concedes. "But I don't want to end up like all the others. Thousands have died in the Games, but only one-hundred and fifty have survived." She looks back at him. "Julius. What do you think happens to tributes after they die?"

Julius seems taken aback, and I'm sure I've never heard a tribute mention such a thing during their interview. "Well. They're taken back to their home Districts, where they're honored and buried." He cocks his head in thought, but Jetta doesn't let it go.

"No, that's not what I meant. What happens when they die? Do they feel a moment of peace? Does everything fade into black? A blinding white?" I see Julius' face lose his smile, only for a second.

"I'm afraid I don't know, Ms. Carter. I've never died."

As the girl from Six passes by me again, I see silent tears rolling down her face.

"Another from the transportation District: Aran Quade!"

The boy from Six walks past the Sevens and myself. His suit is a dark brown, usually seen on Sevens, Nines and Elevens, but the gray shirt and tie add the usual District Six touch. I realize, after a moment, that all the tributes in the row behind me are, in fact, older than me. I guess the Quell rule did its job.

"Aran, Aran. Tell me, my boy! What are your thoughts towards your competition? Any particular standouts?" Julius barely gives the boy any time to sit down before firing questions.

"Well, um, they're good, I guess, from what I've seen so far." He stumbles over his words, unsure of what to say. "But I know I can win."

"Of _course_ , of course. Now, Aran. Who is waiting at home for you, eh? Any _special_ someone?"

"Only my sister, Reyna. She's nine, and the only thing I live for-it's just been the two of us since I was twelve. I've had to work extra shifts to keep us alive." His shoulders sag, the weight of the past five years thrown into the clutches of those who will never appreciate it.

"And we feel for you, I'm sure." Julius bows his head in sorrow. "And, ah, I'd like to ask about your Reaping. I couldn't help but notice you wearing-"

"And when I was saying goodbye. In the Justice Building?" He continues, ignoring Julius, "You know what she told me? She said, "You come home, okay?""

"And what did you say to that?" Julius asks, resigned.

"I said, "Okay."" The crowd roars, feeling for the poor boy who loves his sister. But after he dies, after the Games, nobody will remember his story.

"Yes, yes, a truly caring brother." Julius says as Aran returns to his seat. "But alas, we must continue. Please welcome to our stage, our favorite joker, Kenzi Williams!"

The girl from District Seven stands from behind me, making her way to center stage. My breath catches as I realize how near we are to _my_ interview.

As the girl from Seven takes her seat, I recognize her dress, a light blue dress, trailing behind her a few feet. Sparkling in the artificial lighting of the room. A near-exact copy of her Reaping dress. I don't suppose…

"Kenzi Williams! I have come to understand that this _isn't_ your first time on stage. You were a _model_ back home, isn't that right?"

"It certainly is, Julius! Have you seen my work before?" She smiles, and I catch her slipping her hand into a pocket of her dress.

"Well yes, actually! In fact," He reaches into his own pocket, completely unaware of the symbolism behind the girl's dress. Withdrawing, he reveals a glossy magazine, Kenzi standing on the front. I can't read what it says, and I don't think I ever will.

With a cry of joy, Kenzi pulls an aerosol canister from her dress. Pointing it at Julius, she presses down.

Julius can't bring the magazine up fast enough to deflect the stream of cream arcing towards his face. Once he manages, however, the girl moves the white liquid's trajectory, over, under, all around the shield, coating Julius in the mess.

Suddenly, there are Peacekeepers flooding the stage, two of them marching forward to detain the half-insane girl. The look in her eyes, however, as she turns toward me, is alight with joy, familiarity, and fear. Kenzi just copes differently.

They remove her from the stage, and the audience is laughing.

A Peacekeeper walks by me, and I flinch. He leans down beside Logan, who soon follows him down to the stage. He's shown to his seat, and he takes it. And waits.

I'm surprised with how fast Julius returns to the stage. He's in a new suit, though the same color. This one is tweed, not corduroy, but his usual smile is back, as though nothing happened.

"And we're back from our short break! Welcome back Panem!" Cheers. "Now for our next tribute. From District Seven, Logan Woodson!" Logan gives a slight wave as Julius takes his seat. I wonder if they had enough time to edit out Kenzi's bit of… fun.

"Haha, Logan! How are you doing tonight, dear boy?" I'm next I'm next I'm next, oh, Pa, I'm next.

"Well, Julius, I'm as good as anyone _can_ be in a situation like mine." He laughs, and the crowd joins in. "I mean, I'm on stage with you, the Games are tomorrow… The crown is only a couple weeks away!"

"Yes, I'm sure being here with me is quite unreal. But I wouldn't know, there isn't another me!" More laughter from the crowd and Logan.

"That's too bad, Julius, this is quite the comfortable chair." _Don't stand out. No threats. Steely resolve. Steady confidence._

"Now, let's welcome to the stage, Tulle Salane!"

I freeze for a moment. I look down at my dress, a frilly, deep purple that reaches the floor. _Deep breath, even steps_. I smile as I look down at Julius, who's holding out his hand. I step forward, slowly, carefully.

"Hello, Tulle! You are just looking _incredible_ tonight!" His voice is closer to a roar up close, and his teeth are incredibly white. "You ever wear this kind of dress at home?" Home. A safe topic. No Games. Just home.

I remember my Reaping dress, nothing special. "No, Julius, I don't usually wear anything this nice. However, I've designed things very similar to this, sold in my family's shop back home." I give a shy smile, looking out into the audience.

 _There's a lot of people here._

"Oh, yes, a charming little shop, I'm sure. Who all lives there with you, Tulle?" He asks. "Who's watching their little star from back home?"

"Well," I start, "There's my grandfather, who started the shop. My little brother Rayon. He's thirteen, and everything one can expect in a little brother. There's my mama, and my papa." I fight back tears as I search for a camera.

"I love you. I'm missing you."

* * *

 **dreams and desperation: 155 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 79 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **caitiebug007: 85 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **roses burning: 88 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 167 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 95 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 105 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male**_ **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 59 (** _ **Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male**_ **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 160 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **Jaybird8101: 130 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female**_ **)**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Queens and a Pawn (155 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (155,** _ **dreams and desperation**_ **), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).**

 **Reluctance (72 points): Infiniti (3) (72,** _ **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans**_ **), and Kenzi (7).**

 **Brains and Brawn (105 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (105,** _ **Clis2339**_ **).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (160 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (160,** _ **Mystical Pine Forest**_ **), and Keola (12).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Loners!**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (173) (85,** _ **catiebug007**_ **) (88,** _ **roses burning**_ **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Aran (6) (167) (167,** _ **ElvenRangerRysel**_ **)**

 **Logan (7) (95) (95,** _ **JaymanRepublic**_ **)**

 **Tulle (8)**

 **Harvest (9)**

 **Thanatos (9) (59) (59,** _ **Wolfie McCoy**_ **)**

 **Rebelle (13) (130) (130,** _ **Jaybird8101**_ **)**

 **Sparky (13)**

 **Questions!:**

 **Favorite interview?**

 **Thoughts on the future of the tributes?**

 **Relieved that I shortened this chapter?**

 **Should I break my leg more often?**

 **Give me a few days!**

 **Lord Z**


	25. Last Night Alive- Interviews Pt Two

**So! Here's the Interviews part Two! I'm sorry, this took** _ **waaay**_ **longer than I had planned, but my mother insisted on me working on the homework I've missed, and, of course, end of year testing is upon us (Snow help us all). But we're actually here, and** _ **sooo**_ **close!**

 **Reviews!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: Yeah, I did stop at a strange spot… I just had Tulle as my mid-ish point, and so I didn't want to go much beyond her. The POV was getting long anyway. And it does hurt, but if I can write more because I can't do anything else, who am I to complain?**

 **roses burning: I'm glad you feel I'm doing so good with Mera, it's difficult to keep track of 26+ characters at once. Thanks for the review!**

 **Clis2339: About the mentors question, I was just asking if people could actually name some of the mentors. For instance, Henry's mentor is Velvet Furse, the 57** **th** **Hunger Games Victor** **. Thanks for the review!**

 **As I've said a hundred times before, in** _ **Forest of Death: The 54**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my only remaining tribute, Atalanta, has made the Top 11, having been confirmed to survive Day 11 (at least to the death recap).**

 **Also, the author of** _ **Forest of Death**_ **, TranscendentElvenRanger, has opened up submissions for** _ **Toxic Play: The 55**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **. You can find more info on her profile. If your tribute gets in, you should consider yourself blessed, even if** _ **Toxic Play**_ **is** _ **half**_ **as good as** _ **Forest of Death**_ **.**

 **Also! Though she's not technically in the Games, in** _ **Make Me a Match: The 125**_ _ **th**_ _ **Hunger Games**_ **, my D2 Female, Bellona Terminus, is, well… still in the Selection, I suppose. You'll understand it better if you check it out!**

 **Go vote in the poll on my profile! I've already figured my first two days, I just wanna see how many of you are correct…**

* * *

Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District 13

District Thirteen Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"Let's welcome, from District Eight, Henry Reynoso!" The boy from Eight stands, fixing his tie as though anyone will really care about his appearance. His stylist might, I guess.

 _His stylist should be fired_. I think, looking at his bright green suit jacket and black pants.

"Henry! Welcome, my boy, welcome!" Julius has somehow managed to stay upbeat most of the night, but it's clear that none of these tributes are coming home.

"Yes, yes, yes! You have impressed me, Mr. Reynoso! Tell me, how did you manage to score that handsome seven?" I roll my eyes. He'll ask me about mine too, I'm sure. I deserved much more than a six.

"Clearly, I did what I had to do, Julius." He says shyly. "Besides. You know we aren't supposed to talk about our Sessions. Don't want the others to know."

"Yes, of course, of course, I'm sorry! I have to be curious, it's a bad habit! How about District Eight? What's life like there?" He asks as though he hasn't seen Eight before.

"Well, it's good. My grandmother works in the hospital, my sisters and I work in the factories. We're fairly well off, and I think I learned some helpful things there." He's grinning broadly, but I can see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Yes, another tribute doomed to fall.

"Harvest! Harvest? I do believe I recognize you from somewhere, my dear, but… I just can't put my finger on it." On the big screens, I see Julius biting his finger as he wracks his brain, but all the tributes know her history. Unlike Mason and I, the people are sympathetic because she was Reaped.

"Oh, of course you know me, Julius!" She laughs. "My brother won four years ago!" Another giggle, and I narrow my eyes. She wasn't nearly this talkative during training. She seemed as scared as the rest of them. I wonder what she could have done for that nine in training.

"Wheat? Your brother is Wheat? Of course! Why hadn't I seen it before?" He laughs at his own astonishment. "Yes! I'm quite excited to see you continue my _favorite Victor's_ legacy!"

"Oh you know it!" Yes, definitely a potential threat.

"Thanatos! Come join me, dear boy! Right over here!" The boy from Nine stands slowly, looking uncomfortable outside of the robes he wore Reaping day. The black pinstriped suit is a heavy contrast to his milky white skin, his collar fanning out like a black bat. I am reminded of a story I read in my parents' treasonous library, about a man who lived in a place completely devoted to a dark and scary holiday. His makeup even makes him seem like a skeleton.

"My! You are looking quite terrifying tonight, Mr. Rize!" He shrinks back, hands shaking. His grin betrays him though. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your strategy in the Arena, would it?" He leans forward, raising his eyebrows.

Nine scoffs. "Does Death tell you his plans?" The crowd cheers at his confidence, wondering at his mystery. I just roll my eyes. What are the chances that both tributes from an outer District got the same, really high, score? About the same that the Twelves in the Third Quell _earned_ their twelves.

"Haha, I suppose not! I suppose not! A _strong_ tribute such as yourself must have an incredibly _supportive_ family back home! Care to tell me about them?" I sigh, sure I'm about to hear about another useless group who's just going to be grieving in a couple-

"They're dead to me." Well. There's that, too.

"Now, let's talk to one of our favorites this year, Cheyenne Bruno of District Ten!" A roar of thunder breaks through the room as the girl from Ten stands. She gives a curtsy, as though she owns the place in her plain brown dress. And according to the crowd, she pretty much does.

"Oh, I can't be the _favorite_ , Julius!" Ten laughs as she takes her seat, and Julius joins in.

"Trust me, my dear, you are _my_ favorite!" He laughs. "Now, sweet, sweet Cheyenne. How's life back in Ten? What's your family like?" His voice gets gentler as he speaks, and I wonder how much of what he said was true. I'd ask Soldier, but he's useless.

Cheyenne smiles. "There's my Mama and Papa, and my sister Charlotte. She's sixteen, and is the bestest sister ever!" I grimace, wondering how the Capitol could believe all this. "There's my best friends, Rachelle and Faye. And my bestest friend, Lassie. She's our sheepdog." She gives a small giggle, playing up her innocence.

"They sound very charming!" Julius beams, "But I didn't hear about any _special_ young men." he raises an eyebrow, searching for an answer. "Anybody of that _special_ caliber waiting for you to return back home?"

"Good _heavens_ , no! I'm much too young for that, Papa says." She gives another annoying giggle, and I add her to my hitlist, currently consisting of… everyone.

"Well, Cheyenne, I'm afraid our time is up! Good luck in that Arena tomorrow!" He kisses the girl's hand before she turns to leave, and she has the _audacity_ to _blush_. "Now, Denny Rico!"

The tributes from Ten shake hands as they switch positions, Cheyenne reclaiming her seat and Denny taking center stage.

 _Seven more, and it's over_.

The boy from Ten takes his seat, bowing his head slightly and fiddling with a nonexistent thread from his suit. Since when are entire suits made completely out of brown leather?

"Haha, Denny! Welcome to my stage on this glorious night!" He laughs again.

"Yeah, um, it's great to uh, be here. Julius." He barely looks up from his lap, and quickly flinches back down. I almost want to laugh.

"Oh, dear boy, the honor is all mine!" Ten flinches again under Julius' booming voice, but the interviewer doesn't seem to notice. "Tell me, Denny, what do you think about our illustrious home?"

"Well, it's um, okay I guess." He shrugs. "The food's great."

Julius roars, and I know he's trying to hide the humanity behind Ten. This always happens with the shy tributes, there were riots when some girl named Katie from Three cried during the whole interview. "Good luck in the Arena tomorrow, Denny! Next up is Willow Orchids from District Eleven!"

As the girl from Eleven takes center stage, I remember again how young so many of these tributes are. Including myself, seven tributes are thirteen and under. Granted, at least six of us had to be.

"Willow! Yes, Willow, you look absolutely _adorable_ tonight!" He gestures to her light green dress, her innocent wavy brown hair flowing around her shoulders. I'm not entirely sure _any_ respectable tribute would want to be seen as _adorable_.

She blushes, shaking her head. "Oh, Julius, I wouldn't say that." She holds her hand over her mouth lightly as she giggles, and the crowd mimics her.

"Perhaps not, dear Willow, but I felt it must be said. Willow, tell me, how's life in District Eleven? Who's back home watching?" He leans forward, waiting for a response.

"Well," she speaks softly, but her voice carries through the open space, "There's my siblings, Asher and Mint. Asher's my twin." She explains, as though it's a significant detail. "Then there're my friends, Mira and Hans. We all work in the orchards together, except Mint." She smiles, as though thinking of a happy time. There's a resounding _awwwww_ from the crowd.

"Thorn Ashburry, come on down!" The way he says it reminds me of a game show Tobias had made us watch on the train. People were called from the audience to guess the prices of various items, hoping to get closer to being correct than the others.

"Yes, Thorn! What are your thoughts toward tomorrow's Games, my boy?"

The boy laughs venomously, and I remember him getting an eight in training. I glare at him in his tuxedo, his brown blazer. He glares into the crowd, oblivious to the heat of my stare.

"I'm sure I'm ready." He says, laughing again. "I have a strong chance."

I imagine Julius beaming at his sarcastic enthusiasm as he agrees. "Yes, of course! And what do you think of the Capitol, Thorn? It's quite different from Eleven, am I right?"

"Yes." Eleven agrees angrily. I smirk, wondering if he'll go on another rampage. "This quite the nice place, and I'm sure I could get used to coming here at least once a year." He gives a devilish grin. _He's got to be bluffing,_ I think, _I know it_.

"Sweet Keola, aren't you just so bright tonight?" He giggles as she takes her seat, her silver dress shining in the stage lights. There's a ribbon tied around her wrist, with a charm that look suspiciously like a mockingjay.

"Dear, brave Keola, tell me please. I'm sure we all want to know. What prompted you to Volunteer on what may have been your final day in District Twelve?" The audience grows quiet, and I recount all the Volunteers from this year.

The Ones, Twos, Fours, this girl and myself. Not a very long list, but longer than most years.

"The girl who was Reaped was my friend." She answers slowly, "She kept the bullies away when we were younger, she stood up for me. So I had to stand for her." Women in the crowd are fanning their tears away, falling in the arms of their significant other.

"Yes, and a truly brave and loyal friend to unto death, I'm sure. Tell me, Keola, how have you spent your time here in the Capitol?"

She smiles slightly, and there's a twinkle in her eye. She opens her mouth to speak, but only gives a small cough. She tries again, and comprehensible words make it out of her small body.

"I've been sketching." She says, smiling dreamily. "I've been drawing the beautiful city, the rooftop gardens, even some people I've seen on the T.V." She blushes before continuing, "I even have one of you, Julius." Julius brings his hand to his chest, as though overwhelmed with joy.

After sending her back to her seat with the promise to see some of her sketches when she gets back, he calls out, "Soot Maloy!"

The boy on my left stands up, his silvery suit matching his Partner's dress. I'm tempted to trip him, it would serve him right for joining with the Careers of all people, but I restrain myself. I'll just have to draw out his death in the Games.

"And Soot, don't you just look _amazing_! I'm sure you can't get a suit like _that_ back home, can you?" The implied question registers in Soot's mind, and he leans toward Julius.

"Well, of course not, Julius! Back home our clothing is mostly in tatters, save for Reaping day. Any fashions back home are rocks compared to the jewels of the Capitol!" He poses, showing off his brilliant suit. I'm not sure whether people really like it or not. They seem to like less modest things.

"Haha, yes, I suppose you're right. Speaking of your home, how _are_ things in District Twelve?"

"Oh, it's great!" I can hear him pushing slightly, but he actually sounds as though he actually enjoys living in the country's toilet. "At night, the woods around the fence come to life, with owls and deer and bears. You can hear them calling to each other, looking for food. The trees sway in the soft breeze, the flutter of leaves promising a peaceful slumber." He goes on, talking about the wildlife and such, and I tune out.

 _You're up next. Don't screw this up_.

I look down at my gold sequin dress, suddenly slightly nervous. I imagine the silver-grey cape at my back and wonder what they'll think. I pull slightly at the bracelet I got all those years ago, a reminder of all I can achieve. A present from my mother, given to me by my father.

"Now, the long-lost daughter of a Victor, Rebelle Rine!" I nod once to myself before standing, smiling to the gathered audience. Cameras are flashing, and I'm forced to blink a couple times.

"Haha, Rebelle, welcome! And my, what a name, yes? How'd you end up with a title like that?" I know what he's asking. He wants to know what exactly happened before my mother left the Arena, how exactly I ended up in Thirteen of all places. But I'm not here to betray my people. I'm here to destroy the people who have hurt them for more than a hundred years.

I pause for half a second, but it feels like an eternity. _Just like you rehearsed at home_.

I cock my head slightly, smiling at Julius as though there's no crowd. "Because I'm a rebel, yet the beauty of the ball." Julius' face loses some color, but the crowd is cheering. The Gamemakers can't kill me in that Arena, for fear of riots and rebellion. As long as I do better than my opponents, I'm untouchable.

He gives a roaring laugh. "Ah yes, beauty is evident enough, Rebelle." I can see his smile, forced now. "But were you ever known as Sunflower, the name your mother gave you?"

I look up as though in thought, still aware of what he's trying to do. Where he's trying to lead me. "I don't think so." I say after a moment, "I was always "Belle" to my friends and family. I couldn't imagine ever taking on the name of a flower." I contort my face in disgust, and I can't help but wonder what Eleven thinks of me.

"Well, Rebelle, I do hope we can become friends. I look forward to interviewing you again." He takes my hand as he stands, ushering me back to my seat. As I sit down, I see the look of relief on his face.

I hear him inviting Sparky to the stage, but he's already halfway there, the idiot clearly overexcited.

"HECK YES!" I hear him scream, and I cover my ears. "LET'S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD!"

* * *

Aran Quade, Age 17, District 6

District Six Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"Okay. You two did amazing tonight! I got a few more Sponsor calls during the interviews, and one that wants to meet with me in person." Kiara's face contorts in disgust. "Some people just like the ol' face-to-face. I'm just glad it's not as bad now as it was my first year mentoring. But either way, Aran, Jetta, I won't be seeing either of you again before you have to leave tomorrow. So until we meet again," the thirteen-year-old girl before me looks into my eyes, "may the odds be ever in your favor."

She releases my hand as she departs, and I feel alone. Jetta, Railer and Fuschia are still in the room, of course, but Kiara, though physically four years younger than me, has seen more Games than anyone in the apartment. And she's been there to talk to me ever since we arrived in the Capitol. I never thought I'd be so dependent on a thirteen-year-old.

"Ah, yes, glorious Sponsor meetings. Come Jetta, I want to run some ideas by you before the Games begin." Railer takes Jetta's hand as he stands, leading her down the hall. Leaving me with our escort.

"And I have a party I have to be to! I have to tell _all_ my friends about our _marvelous_ team! See you later, Aran." I spoke too soon. With Fuschia gone, I'm left all alone.

I sigh. Tonight's been trying as it is. I need some fresh air.

I figured the elevator out several nights ago, after the first day of training. I even ran into the boy from Thirteen last night. I don't need any help finding my way up to the roof of the training center.

The night sky over the Capitol is crystal clear, unlike the stinking smog of the refineries back in Six. The moon and stars light up the Capitol, the city laid out below me. The Tribute Center sits on a hill behind the President's mansion, away from the main city. The only other thing up here is the City Circle and Tribute Station.

Turning away from the city, I look back at the small garden laid out on the roof. I've found that most of its nothing more than holograms, but the grass is certainly real. Certainly more than anything we have in Six.

Beyond the garden, the doors leading back to the Tribute Center. And beyond that, the hovercraft pad.

I shudder. The hovercraft will be there, early tomorrow morning, taking each of us one-by-one to the Arena. Where we'll fight to see who deserves to come home. I snort. Do any of us deserve this? Except, I suppose, the Careers.

The door to the stairwell opens, and I dive into the holographic shrubbery. I imagine Sparky doing this, but push the thought away. I can't see through the plants, something I'm sure scientists in Three worked for years to master. I've no idea who's joined me up here, and I'd rather find out before showing myself.

The figure steps up to the railing, the hood of their cloak concealing who they are. Leaning forward, they begin speaking.

"Why did I have to do this? No, I didn't. I had the choice. I didn't have to be here. My own fault. Stupid Malaya. Stupid popularity. Lies." And then she pulls back her hood in frustration, and it hits me like a freight train: Malaya Garnet, the girl from One.

She's still muttering, something about Games and worries, her own stupidity. But she's a Career. She Volunteered for this. It's what she's, likely, always wanted. Right?

Perhaps, like many Careers, she felt too much pressure from others to do this. But it doesn't matter, she's here to kill me. Reyna was bullied in school. This girl sounds like she was bullied into this. I remember in the Justice Building, imagining some faceless girl from One slitting my throat…

I'm not sure why, but I feel compelled to speak to the girl. She _is_ my age, maybe she'd like to talk too…

I stand, and walk toward the girl who's supposed to kill me tomorrow.

* * *

Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1

District One Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"I just don't want to die. This isn't how one should make a name for herself." I mutter in my anger. After the interviews, my escort was congratulating me on a wondrous job. That they loved me. _But that's not me!_ I screamed after I got sick of it. _I wish I'd never Volunteered for this joke of a spectacle!_ I ran then, taking the cloak Jade had left at the door.

I tense as I sense a presence behind me, steadily growing closer. Whether I like it or not, I _have_ been trained, and it's very difficult to sneak up behind a Career. _Closer, closer_...

"Hey Ma-" I spin quickly, driving my elbow into my assailant's gut. He doubles over, and I kick his calf, sending him crashing to the ground. I look around for anything to use as a weapon, when I hear him speak again.

"I'm… sorry." He grunts as he attempts to stand. "I… didn't mean to… startle you. Let me try again." He extends a hand, but I take a step back. He has a small smile on his face, glowing slightly in the moonlight. "Aran Quade, District Six."

I hesitate. "Malaya." I say. "Why were you following me, _Aran_?" I ask, folding my arms with a small huff. What business does he have up here, other than stalking a fearsome opponent?

"Actually," he begins, "I was here first. Had I been following you, you would have heard the doors open. I'm not _that_ stealthy." He has that stupid grin again, and I want to drive a javelin into his neck so bad right now, I just… Ugh.

"Well," I start sarcastically, "That gives you every reason in the world to sneak up on me. Because you were" I raise my hands in air quotes "here first."

"I'm sorry. Did I do something to make you mad?" He asks me this sincerely, like a small child worrying over his mother. "You sounded… upset. I was just making sure you were okay." I scoff. Really, who does this kid think he is?

"Oh sure." I say bitterly, "I'm a tribute in the Hunger Games. I've been training for this opportunity for years." I groan. Does it really matter anymore? There aren't any cameras up here, and Six'll likely be dead tomorrow. "This is all so stupid." I breathe.

He grunts. "Tell me about it. As you may recall, I was _Reaped_ into this. All I want is to get back home to my sister." He joins me at the railing, and I don't stop him. I can't help but wonder, however, what it must be like to love someone that much.

Back home, I was always playing up the angle of "eager Career." As one of the top at the academy for years, everybody loved me, wanted to be associated with my popularity, and I loved it.

No I didn't. I was too blind to see how miserable I really was. None of my boyfriends really loved me, nor I them. No friends or siblings. My parents were never that great. Just made sure I continued to train.

"I don't know why I'm here." I say, tears welling up in my eyes. "It's what my parents always wanted. A Victor. They taught me how to lie, to love what I was doing." And then I see it. "They never loved me as their daughter. They just wanted the fortune and prestige that comes home with a Victor."

As I talk, this random boy from Six just listens, never interrupting or laughing. As I tell him my story, he seems understanding, forgiving even.

"Well, Malaya. It seems to me" he starts after I finish, "that maybe… maybe you should try being yourself for a change." His smile is gone now, replaced by a look of sincerity.

I laugh bitterly. I turn away, saying, "As much as I'd absolutely love to, it doesn't make you any friends." I feel the world come crashing down as tears threaten to fall. How can I call myself a Career? Being loved won't save me when the Twos gang up on me. As Marcus stands by. In fact, Mera may have already killed him by then. My new friends are my killers.

I freeze as I feel his hand on my shoulder. I don't react as he turns me around, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of my face. "It's true, Malaya. And I can be your friend." And the tears are rolling silently, because the whole situation is so stupid and laughable but it means so much and I just-

I shudder away from his touch, and he quickly retracts his hand. "I, uh, sorry, Mal-"

"It's fine." I say quickly. "But it's, ah, late. Yes, I have to go." I go to run past him, but he catches my wrist. I hadn't noticed before, but he's quite strong.

"Wait!" He says, and I turn to look at him. "Allies?" He's looking into my eyes, searching for the answer I know I want to give.

I rip myself free, and I run. Through the garden, past the doors, down the small stairwell to the Thirteens' floor. I don't stop running until the doors of the elevator are safely shut. I sit in a corner, arms around my legs. I hadn't realized it before, but the tears are starting to sting my eyes.

 _Stupid._ I chastise myself. _He proposed an alliance, not a marriage._

I ignore my mentors and District Partner in favor of my bedroom. I have a big decision to make.

* * *

 **And oh, how I've been waiting to get the chance to write this last part! This is something you often see, but not usually until the Games. If either of these two win, however, you must know that it's because they deserved it, not because I want to expand on this story arc.**

 **dreams and desperation: 155 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 79 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **caitiebug007: 85 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **roses burning: 92 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 167 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 95 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 111 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male**_ **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 59 (** _ **Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male**_ **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 163 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **Jaybird8101: 130 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female**_ **)**

 **Alliances!:**

 **Queens and a Pawn (155 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (155,** _ **dreams and desperation**_ **), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).**

 **Reluctance (72 points): Infiniti (3) (72,** _ **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans**_ **), and Kenzi (7).**

 **Brains and Brawn (111 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (111,** _ **Clis2339**_ **).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (163 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (163,** _ **Mystical Pine Forest**_ **), and Keola (12).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Confusing/maybe Alliances!**

 **Malaran (Araya?) (167 points): Malaya Garnet (1), Aran Quade (6) (167,** _ **ElvenRangerRysel**_ **)**

 **Loners!**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (179) (85,** _ **catiebug007**_ **) (92,** _ **roses burning**_ **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Aran (6) (167) (167,** _ **ElvenRangerRysel**_ **)**

 **Logan (7) (95) (95,** _ **JaymanRepublic**_ **)**

 **Tulle (8)**

 **Harvest (9)**

 **Thanatos (9) (59) (59,** _ **Wolfie McCoy**_ **)**

 **Rebelle (13) (130) (130,** _ **Jaybird8101**_ **)**

 **Sparky (13)**

 **Maybe Loners?**

 **Aran (6) (167) (167,** _ **ElvenRangerRysel**_ **)**

 **Questions!:**

 **Which POV was your favorite?**

 **Which interview?**

 **What is going on between Malaya and Aran?**

 **Do you think this alliance will hold true in the Arena?**

 **If you died in the Games, would you prefer your killer win or die?**

 **Any Arena thoughts (can you find the hint?)?**

 **Catch the reference?**

 **(I'll award 7 points for the reference, 15 points for the hint)**

 **Aloha!**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	26. Let the Games Begin- Launch

**We're back, and we are seeing the Arena for the first time! Well, you are at least… I've had it completely drawn out for a while.**

 **Reviews:**

 **roses burning: WHAT? YOU WENT TO HAWAII? AND YOU DIDN'T TAKE ME? How rude… Thanks for the review though.**

 **Clis2339: You are quite correct, I must admit, about the Arena. It's a jungle, often known as a** _ **tropical**_ **forest. I tried to use plants and such during training as hints, and you got it! Thanks for the review!**

 **dreams and desperation: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope you had a good Easter Sunday as well! Thanks for the review!**

 **TranscendentElvenRanger: I'm glad you think I did well with Aran and Malaya last chapter, I have been super excited to write it since you first submitted them :). Thanks for the review!**

 **Seriously peeps, you should check out** _ **Forest of Death**_ **and** _ **Make Me a Match**_ **, where my Ata and Belle are vying for the top spot. Seriously. Just go read those stories. After this, of course.**

 **The reference I was talking about last chapter was for a game show called** _ **The Price is Right**_ **. The Arena hint was** _ **Aloha**_ **.**

 **Guys, I am so excited, the Bloodbath is the NEXT CHAPTER! Like, how crazy is that?**

 **I wrote most of this chapter way in advance, by the way, making little tweaks over the course of the pre-Games.**

 **The bloodbath should be up soon. Hopefully. You can check out my profile to see how it's coming along.**

 **Go vote in the poll!**

* * *

Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District 7

District Seven Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I'm thrashing around in my bed as the sound of pounding echoes through the room. The door bursts open, revealing Javon, my stylist, and he seems angry about something. His face reminds me of the fury on the face in my nightmares. Glowing, red eyes, a sword raised. A feeling of heartbreak, of terror.

"I am going to keel 'im!" Javon screams, stomping into the room. I look up in confusion, and he scowls. "Up, silly girl! Don't you know what today is?" I jolt as I realize: the Hunger Games. The Bloodbath is today.

I jump out of bed, spurred into action mostly by my sudden terror of suffering Javon's wrath. If I'm late to the roof, he'll wonder where I am, and…

Wait.

I look up at Javon, a thin, bearded man in a nice purple suit. Isn't he…

"I thought you were going to wait for me on the hovercraft." I say cautiously. Isn't that what he told me last night? Lumeo was going to show me to the roof, and then…

"Yes, girl! But your _eejit_ of an escort ditched his duty as soon as he got de boy up dere!" I also remember the mention of Logan leaving first, then me, then the boy from Six. But what is he doing here?

Javon screeches again as he tosses me a set of clothes. I look down at them. I simple tank top and sweat pants. Not exactly my style, but I suppose I could…

"Get dem on, girl! We don't have much time! We're so late dat dose dogs from Two are going up! We don't have time for your humorous pranks!" He's visibly shaking, and I imagine him strangling Lumeo. I'd pay to see that.

Quickly, I throw the clothes on, Javon huffing impatiently the whole time. I follow him out of my room, to the Floor Seven common room, decorated as though among the branches of a giant tree. Logan always loved it, but I was constantly looking down to make sure it wasn't that far a fall.

There's a small breakfast set out on the mahogany table, and I sit to eat. I butter some toast, pour me some milk; it's really about as good as what I used to get back home. It's a shame what might be my last true meal for a couple weeks isn't Capitol-worthy.

"Come on, girl, we must go!" He's fidgeting with his hands, when he suddenly straightens. Tapping his left ear, he begins to speak.

"Yes, I know. I'm fully aware, thank you. Well, it's not _my_ fault! No, not hers either. Yes, dey seem to have a strained relationship." I snort, figuring he's talking about me and Lumeo. He glares at me, and I take another bite of toast. "Yes, we will be right up. Yes, three minutes. Thank you."

He taps his com again, and I look up curiously. "The girl from One is on de roof now, Kenzi. We are lucky dey waited this long. We must leave, or we'll miss the Games." He acts like his life is the one on the line, like he's going into the Games.

Then it actually hits me: the Games. Being late is not an option, or I'll lose support in the Capitol. If they hate me, the Gamemakers will find a way to take me out. I have to leave. Now.

I jump up, banging my knee on the edge of the table. I ignore it, though. Maybe they can get rid of the pain on the hovercraft. I look to Javon, who seems to light up. He bolts for the door, and I'm right behind him.

I brush away the memory of the sword from my dream, the glowing red eyes.

I have to play the Game. Infiniti is my opponent, and I will treat her as such.

* * *

Jasper Blue, Age 16, District 4

District Four Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"So why exactly do I have to leave before Mera?" I ask, shoving another forkful of pancakes into my mouth. It's beginning to taste like dust, but the syrup is incredibly delicious. I'd drink it if I thought Seaweed wouldn't freak a fit.

"Because women need to sleep longer, apparently." He snorts, rolling his eyes. "And so the men of the District get to suffer more by getting up longer. You should count your blessings, Jasper. I had to get up at four this morning." I hold back my question of _whose house_ he woke up in this morning, and instead say calmly:

"Please. Call me Blue." My teeth are clenched, and I wonder why the heck this idjit just can't call me _Blue_. I'd almost die in the Arena so that I don't have to see him again. I wonder if _all_ the escorts are like this.

"Of course, Jasper, I can be so forgetful. But, I do believe it's time to g-o." He gestures to the elevator, and I get up reluctantly. When I get back, I'm going to have the best time punching his stupid head in.

I march past him, into the elevator. It forces me to wait, and Seaweed takes his own sweet time getting in. The doors close silently, and I wonder if anybody would notice if I just beat the tar out of him now.

After an eternity of silence, there's a high-pitched _DING_ , followed by the annoying voice that haunted us tributes during the training days.

"Floor Thirteen! Good luck in the Arena, Jasper Blue!" I growl and step off, waiting for my escort. I turn toward him, and he points to my left, where a pair of Peacekeepers are standing on either side of a door. I figure it must lead to the stairs, as the Thirteens' door is across from the elevator.

"See you on the other side!" He calls as the doors close. I sigh, turning to the guards.

"Jasper Blue?" The one on the right asks. I simply nod, and he reaches out to open the door. His partner pushes it open and starts down a short hallway. I follow him, and the first Peacekeeper follows me, closing the door behind us. The hall is unimpressive, nothing but white marble covering the floors and walls. Bright overhead lights make the marble difficult to look at, so I keep my eye on the stairs leading to the roof.

The Peacekeepers turn back after we reach the harsh sunlight. But there are even more up here, at least two dozen. I wonder if they expect any tributes to try and run for it.

The hovercraft site silently to my right, on a raised steel platform. The loading door is open, and I'm given the time to walk there myself. I can feel their eyes on me, watching my every move. It isn't far to the landing pad, but each step I take seems to weigh more on my mind and heart. Do I really want to do this?

 _It's too late now_. I decide as I mount the steps. The hovercraft is larger than I might have imagined, definitely big enough for a whole squadron of Peacekeepers.

Or twenty-five tribute corpses.

I smile as Ariellana greets me, her usual smile lighting up her face. I wonder if she gets this attached to all her tributes. She certainly _does_ seem to like me. A lot.

She leads me to my seat, and leaves me as she walks to the front of the hovercraft, disappearing from sight for the moment. She returns seconds later, a Capitol attendant at her back. The female attendant stands in front of me, raising a small box like a Taser.

She grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet. "This is your tracker." She explains, turning me around. "It will help us pinpoint your exact location in the Arena." I feel a small pressure in the back of my neck, then a sharp pain. I stand still for a moment, unsure of what to do.

"You can take your seat now, Blue." Ariellana says from behind me. I relax, and take my seat awkwardly. I rub the back of my neck, wondering if there's a mark from the device entering my body.

I'm in the Game now. There's no turning back.

* * *

Soot Maloy, Age 13, District 12

District Twelve Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I'm not sure how long I've been sitting here, listening to the soft _hum_ of the engine. Tara is chattering incessantly, about how she's sure I'll be okay. I ignore her in favor of the small stone I've been flipping in my palm. It's surprisingly smooth, the grooves in its surface like mere bumps as I run my thumb along it.

I look at the words carved in again, wondering how long ago they had been placed there.

 _Garrett_

 _Sarai_

 _Soot_

 _Maddie_

 _Tomas_

My siblings. My family. And written in charcoal on the back, probably meant to be cut out later:

 _You are so much_

 _stronger than_

 _you know_

 _-Coalette_

Much of the message has rubbed off since it was given to me in the Justice Building, but I know I won't forget it. It will be a reminder of home in these Games, a beacon of hope. I pocket the stone again, hoping I won't lose it in the Arena.

Everything goes dark in front of me, and I jump up in a panic. Did we crash? Am I already dead? What kind of afterlife is this?

I know I'm hyperventilating, and I realize that I can't be dead. I call out to Tara as the lights come on.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, I forgot to tell you. The windows go dark as we approach the Arena. And, well, we have a new pilot, he probably forgot about the lights." She smiles brightly, as though it isn't of concern. I grin sheepishly, realizing my foolishness.

"So we're close?" I ask nervously. I wish I could see the Arena, just to know what to expect, but that would be considered an advantage. And tributes with advantages are often killed.

"Yes, my dear, we are. I suspect we are already in the Catacombs. We'll be landing shortly, I'm sure." She still has her smile, but I see a flicker of sadness in her eyes. I remember her telling me about the one time she nearly had a Victor, only for her hopes to be dashed in the glint of a knife.

"We have now landed." The voice from the elevator chimes overhead, "We hope you'll fly with us again, Soot Maloy. Tara Quince, you will board Hovercraft D16Q after the launch. Have a nice flight!" The hangar door opens as the voice cuts off, and two Peacekeepers board, standing on either side of me. I get shoved forward, to Tara's dismay. I follow them into the Catacombs, trying very hard to keep my breathing steady.

The wall on my right curves away from me, and doors stand closed every dozen or so strides. I imagine these are the launch rooms, in a half-circle around the Cornucopia. The lighting is dim, the floor and walls a stone grey. It looks like something out of a horror film, and I shudder.

We stop in front of the thirteenth door, and I sigh in relief. I can run straight for the Cornucopia, instead of having to run around the side.

They open the door and shove me inside. I stumble, but don't fall. The door closes, and Tara helps me stand. "Barbarians." She mutters.

The new room is much like the hallway to the roof of the Tribute Center: Marble walls and floor, tiled ceiling and bright lights. There's a curtain covering a corner, creating a small dressing room. Are tributes really going to be wary of their stylist after all the time they've been seen by them? I know I'm not, not that Tara would let me.

Next to the door is a set of shelves, and I catch sight of boots and a poncho. I'm curious about that, but my attention is drawn to the massive tube in the center of the room. The walls are clear like glass, and the tube is about a meter in diameter. The floor inside the tube is metal, and I know I'm looking at my launch plate.

"Now what?" I ask, looking to Tara.

"Now, we dress." She gestures to me, and I know to strip while she gets my Arena uniform. She helps me slip into it, then stands back for a moment, looking me over.

"Well," she starts, taking a deep breath, "the rubber boots are certainly an interesting choice, often too loose to run in. However, as they seemed difficult to put on, I'd say they fit snugly." I nod, flexing my toes slightly in my ankle-high boots. "The pants are common enough, though the choice of color leads me to believe there will be a lot of greenery." I look down at my cargo pants, the many pockets going down either leg. My hand sneaks to one of the regular pockets, below the waistline. The feel of hard stone is reassuring; my token is safe.

Thick socks first appear at my ankles where the boots stop, and stretch about halfway up my shin, over my pants. I have a black tank top under a three-quarter sleeve black khaki shirt. A black poncho jacket, with some kind of fabric lining the inside.

"I think it's safe to say it will be hot and wet." Tara continues, "Something like a rainforest or marshy jungle." I nod. If she knows what it could be, the other will too. I need a game plan, now.

"Soot Maloy, please enter your tube and prepare for launch. May the odds be ever in your favor!" It's that cheeky voice again, clearly digital but with a touch more emotion than a machine. I bow my head slightly, stepping onto my plate. I look up as a slight _hiss_ fills my ears, and I see a wall of glass begin to drop. I shake slightly, my fear sending me into panic.

I look to Tara, whose own gaze is staring at me sadly.

"I wish I could have kept you." She says. Then the tube is closed and I'm being raised into the Arena.

There's harsh sunlight, and heat. And a steep mountain with the promise of supplies between me and the top.

 _You are so much stronger than you know_.

* * *

Julius Incandes, Age 29, Capitol

Master of Ceremonies

* * *

"Good morning Panem, and welcome to the start of the One-Hundred Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games!" I roar into the camera as I gesture to the blank screen behind me. "We have met our tributes, we have watched our tributes, and we have scored them and interviewed them. Today, many fates will be sealed, and a few fates shall seal them!" Behind the camera, a red sign begins to pulse with the word _Arena_. "And it's time!" I shout happily.

I turn toward the screen, Nero copying my action.

On screen is a steep mountain, the platforms forming a semi-circle around its perimeter half way up the slope. The Cornucopia stands on a flat plain at the very top, a peninsula surrounded by magma. The hot lava hisses as it flows down the sides of the volcano in all directions. The entire Arena is covered in volcanic rock and jungle, though the mountain itself hasn't a single plant or animal that can be seen. A single, massive river snakes its way through the Arena, with rapids that are a danger for near anybody to cross.

I am still examining the terrain when the red neon sign glows again, and we see the tributes start appearing out of their tubes. I look at the clock. Only five more minutes!

"And it looks like on the farthest left of our tribute platforms is Miss Willow Orchids from District Eleven. Oh, I do hope she does okay. Next to her we have Keola Foeba from Twelve. Poor girl, she's coughing in excitement! And here we have Tulle Salane, our sweet artist from Eight! Surely, Tulle will go far! Oh my, would you look at that!" I stop, watching Mason's gaze hone in on Tulle.

"It looks like Mr. Lepodolite from Two already has himself a target! Let's hope Tulle has a skill or two up her sleeve, eh? On Mason's other side is Infiniti Reagan from Three. She looks like she might just make a break for it, which simply _couldn't_ be that fun in _this_ Arena, could it? Oh, she could be in trouble! Jasper Blue from Four is on her other side! This _can't_ end well for Three."

Nero speaks up as I take a sip of the drink I made sure I was provided. "To Blue's right stands Logan Woodson, the boy from Seven! If he plays this smart, he should make the top Eight. And there's our youngest competitor: Sparky Montgomery from Thirteen! Check out that look in his eyes, folks! Oh, and here's Denny Rico, from Ten. Denny may not be predicted to pass the Bloodbath, but I'm sure he'll try!" Denny stands there, steadying his breath.

Nero continues as the next tribute is lifted into what could be their final resting place. "And Devon Rose of District Five seems to be in luck, with two vests of throwing knives before her. Let's just hope that- Oh no! Cassia Maurise from Two is right next to her! I don't know about you, Julius, but I believe the rumors: Cassia is a knife thrower!"

I take that as him giving me the spotlight, and I take it, relieving his voice for a moment. "Oh, yes Nero, I'm certain they're true. Two almost always has a knife thrower, so Devon could be in serious trouble here! Now we have Malaya Garnet from One! People of Panem, nothing good can ever happen to the tributes next to two Careers. This could be catastrophic for Devon and… Thorn Ashburry of District Eleven! He's in the same boat as Five, but his youth could remove any potential targets."

I'm shaking in excitement after half the tributes have shown up. I can't wait for the Games to begin! "From District Twelve we have Soot Maloy, the boy who got "in" with the Careers. And next to him is his ally, Esmeralda Dawn! Another Career on the field, and a favorite at that. The ever-terrifying Thanatos Rize from Nine is to her right, calmly surveying the mountainside around him. And there she is! The once-missing daughter of the Victor of the One-hundred Thirty-seventh Hunger Games, Rebelle Rine!" I laugh with glee, until I'm gasping for breath. Nero continues for me.

"There's the ever-comedic superstar, Kenzi Williams from District Seven! Could our love for her give her the crown? We'll have to see! After Kenzi is Aran Quade from Six! I heard rumors buzzing through the studio talking about a secret alliance. I hope we figure out who it's with before it's too late! After Aran is sweet Harvest Miller from Nine. Her brother and mentor, Wheat, told us in an interview yesterday that she was just going to make a run for it, but she has her eyes on the yellow bag before her. Darius Line from Five appears ready to make a run for it! And there's the last of the Careers, Marcus Caelum! He has his eyes on the Cornucopia, seemingly eager to fight!"

"Cordin Bolt from Three is in a very unfortunate spot, as he'll have to run around the side of the Cornucopia to get in. Henry Reynoso is out of his element for sure. There surely isn't anything a tribute from Eight can have advantage over in an Arena like this. I can almost hear the crowds screaming as Cheyenne Bruno of District Ten comes on screen. I'm excited to see how she does, personally. And last but certainly not least, we have Jetta Carter from District Six! It seems Jetta has decided against the red backpack fifty meters up the slope, and is going to run away!"

We continue making remarks about each tribute, and their likelihood of survival, even as the countdown reaches 53 seconds.

* * *

Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8

District Eight Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _52_

Running for supplies will be too dangerous.

 _51_

I hope Jasper actually plans on meeting up.

* * *

Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District 13

District Thirteen Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _50_

 _The only way out is to kill._

 _49_

I'll take out Four, and get out.

* * *

Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District 1

District One Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _48_

Lots of Victors Volunteered a bit early.

 _47_

I hope there's a hammer in the Cornucopia.

* * *

Harvest Miller, Age 14, District 9

District Nine Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _46_

 _Run away. I'll help you from there._ He said.

 _45_

 _I'll take your advice, Wheat. But I want that yellow bag!_

* * *

Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10

District Ten Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _44_

 _District Ten is always a bloodbath._ The Careers told me.

 _43_

The nearest threat is three pedestals to my left. I could grab that pack.

* * *

Denny Rico, Age 14, District 10

District Ten Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _42_

We decided I'd help get supplies.

 _41_

But I don't want to die.

* * *

Cassia Maurise, Age 18, District 2

District Two Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _40_

This should be easy enough.

 _39_

I will be Two's third Victor in a row.

* * *

Mason Lepodolite, Age 18, District 2

District Two Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _38_

If my sister can take down three in the opening hours, so can I.

 _37_

I've already found my first target.

* * *

Willow Orchids, Age 13, District 11

District Eleven Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _36_

The girl from Twelve is looking hungrily at the red bag just up the mountain.

 _35_

Sorry, sweetie, it's mine.

* * *

Cordin Bolt, Age 16, District 3

District Three Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _34_

Stealing from the Careers is going to be hard to do here.

 _33_

But running in is suicide.

* * *

Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3

District Three Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _32_

Thirty seconds to decide what to do.

 _31_

Thirty seconds to decide my fate.

* * *

Darius Line, Age 17, District 5

District Five Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _30_

The boy from One is between me and the lava.

 _29_

As nice as it would be to push him in, I'm running.

* * *

Esmeralda Dawn, Age 18, District 4

District Four Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _28_

The girl from Thirteen is glaring two pedestals to my right.

 _27_

 _You wanna dance, girl? Let's dance_.

* * *

Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District 7

District Seven Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _26_

The river of lava to my left is too close for comfort.

 _25_

I'm trapped on this wedge.

* * *

Tulle Salane, Age 15, District 8

District Eight Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _24_

Why couldn't the lava have split Mason and I?

 _23_

Papa, I don't wanna die.

* * *

Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District 11

District Eleven Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _22_

I was hoping the Arena would be a field.

 _21_

 _Weapon and bag, Thorn_.

* * *

Devon Rose, Age 17, District 5

District Five Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _20_

I'm lucky to have been provided with throwing knives.

 _19_

The question is, can I get out in time?

* * *

Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

District Seven Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _18_

My nearest threat is across flowing lava.

 _17_

I can probably grab the bag.

* * *

Thanatos Rize, Age 15, District 9

District Nine Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _16_

I've had my plan prepared before I entered the Games.

 _15_

Now I have to act on it.

* * *

Jetta Carter, Age 17, District 6

District Six Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _14_

I'm really beginning to wish I hadn't given all my food away back in Six.

 _13_

My immune system may kill me alone.

* * *

Soot Maloy, Age 13, District 12

District Twelve Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _12_

I still can't believe I'm with the Careers!

 _11_

I give a thumbs-up to Mera, who only grins back.

* * *

Aran Quade, Age 17, District 6

District Six Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _10_

I can see Malaya from my vantage point.

 _9_

I can also see a bag 20 meters from the Cornucopia.

* * *

Jasper Blue, Age 16, District 4

District Four Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _8_

I really hope I made the right decision in an ally.

 _7_

 _Get in, get out, Blue._

* * *

Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District 13

District Thirteen Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _6_

I am trapped on the wedge with the boys from Seven and Ten.

 _5_

Ten is about to run. Therefore, I can get the bag next to the lava flow.

* * *

Keola Foeba, Age 13, District 12

District Twelve Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _4_

I need to pull my own weight in this Alliance.

 _3_

But the ash is making me cough too hard.

* * *

Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1

District One Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _2_

 _Am I really ready for this?_ I wonder.

 _1_

Let the Games begin.

* * *

 **So, there it is, the last moment before the Games! Woohoo!**

 **You know, there are 403,291,461,126,605,635,584,000,000 different ways this could end, placing-wise.**

 **A website placed the tributes in this order. I had nothing to do with it.**

 **dreams and desperation: 158 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 79 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **caitiebug007: 85 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **roses burning: 95 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **ElvenRangerRysel: 176 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 95 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 123 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male**_ **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 59 (** _ **Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male**_ **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 163 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **Jaybird8101: 130 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female**_ **)**

 **Alliances!**

 **Queens and a Pawn (158 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (158,** _ **dreams and desperation**_ **), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).**

 **Reluctance (72 points): Infiniti (3) (72,** _ **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans**_ **), and Kenzi (7).**

 **Brains and Brawn (123 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (123,** _ **Clis2339**_ **).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (163 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (163,** _ **Mystical Pine Forest**_ **), and Keola (12).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Confusing/maybe Alliances!**

 **Malaran (Araya?) (176 points): Malaya (1), Aran (6) (176,** _ **ElvenRangerRysel**_ **)**

 **Loners!**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (182) (85,** _ **catiebug007**_ **) (95,** _ **roses burning**_ **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Aran (6) (176) (176,** _ **ElvenRangerRysel**_ **)**

 **Logan (7) (95) (95,** _ **JaymanRepublic**_ **)**

 **Tulle (8)**

 **Harvest (9)**

 **Thanatos (9) (59) (59,** _ **Wolfie McCoy**_ **)**

 **Rebelle (13) (130) (130,** _ **Jaybird8101**_ **)**

 **Sparky (13)**

 **Maybe Loners?**

 **Aran (6) (176) (176,** _ **ElvenRangerRysel**_ **)**

 **Questions!**

 **Thoughts on my countdown setup?**

 **Favorite POV?**

 **WHAT THE THRACK IS GONNA HAPPEN PEOPLE?!**

 **Who would you like to hear from in upcoming chapters?**

 **What would you do when faced with an Arena like this?**

 **Let the Games begin!**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	27. You Can't Hide- Bloodbath

**And yes, we are finally here, the Bloodbath! I was hoping that, now that we're here, I'd be able to do weekly updates, but that may not prove possible yet. Homework I missed is coming in like a freight train, and so writing will have to be constricted to times I can't work on that. I managed to get this out in a week, though!**

 **Reviews!**

 **The First Adventuress: Thanks for letting me know about the name change, I'm totally okay with it (as though you need my permission) so long as you let me know you changed it. Thanks for the review!**

 **Clis2339: Well… I suppose the only way to know Henry's fate is to read, mm? Thanks for the review!**

 **dreams and desperation: It** _ **is**_ **surprisingly high, huh? I was surprised myself. But I mean, I suppose it makes sense. Thanks for the review!**

 **roses burning: DON'T HAVE A HEART ATTACK! I've got enough people haunting me, so just don't. I'm excited to see the rivalry play out! Thanks for the review!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: You're darn right it is! Thanks for the review!**

 **I just wanted to clear something up: I did** _ **not**_ **use a randomizer for my placements. I've yet to decide how exactly the Games will go. I used the randomizer for the order in which the tributes were launched.**

* * *

Keola Foeba, Age 13, District 12

District Twelve Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The gong rings, and I run forward without hesitation. The girl from Eleven is running to my left, and I know we're both going for the red bag halfway to the Cornucopia. I just have to get there first, I guess.

My boots pound away at the black rock under me, and already my breath is coming in shallow, heaving gasps. I wasn't made for the Arena. I wasn't even made for running.

Somehow, I reach the bag first, though when I turn, I see that Eleven isn't quite sprinting as fast as she can. She's jogging, as though she can take her time. And maybe she can, but I have to get to Cheyenne and Denny.

I thread my arm through the straps, heaving it up. Before I can secure it with my other arm, however, I feel a heavy pressure in my side, pushing me to the unforgiving ground. I hear a sharp _CRACK_ , and I cry out in pain. The bag flies from my grasp, and I hear the girl from Eleven sprint past me.

I turn, catching her eye as she secures the bag onto her shoulders. She bows apologetically, before turning her back on me and sprinting down the mountainside. She gives Mason and the girl from Eight a wide berth, but they ignore her.

As another wave of pain radiates up my left leg, I watch the two older tributes. The big man from Two is trying to grab her, but the girl, Tulle I think, keeps dancing out of his grasp. She's tiring, however, and they both know it.

I look down at my ankle. It's swelling rapidly, the sock above my boot inflating like a balloon. I try to stand, but the bone seems to buckle under my weight, and I collapse, a fresh scream tearing from my lungs. _How can I get out of this now?_

The thundering of footsteps is getting louder, and I turn back toward the game of cat-and-mouse. Through the haze of my tears, I see a figure of green and gold, silhouetted against the dark green and black of the jungle below.

Behind the figure with the red hair, a larger figure, his jacket a sickening crimson.

I give a small _YELP_ as I realize the girl from Eight's plan: get Mason to kill me first, and take the opportunity to escape.

I choke slightly, sending myself into another coughing fit. I try to crawl away, but Eight swerves in my direction, determined to survive. I wipe my eyes, wondering what I could possibly do. Sobs pound through my chest amidst the hacking cough, and I know it's all over.

 _But I don't want to die_. I think weakly.

But the girl from the Textile District isn't fast enough. She was too far downhill, and the boy from Two catches her less than five feet from me. He snags the hood of her jacket, grinning broadly as he pulls her close. His hands snake their way around her head, and he pulls.

There's a dull _THUD_ as the corpse lands right in front of me. I remember a girl, hanging around the camouflage station constantly. A girl whom I marveled at as she fought the trainer, hatchet in hand. She was a natural with it, and now she's dead.

I'm shaking slightly as I raise my eyes to meet the boy from Two's. He flashes another wolfish grin, and I scramble away, ignoring the pain as terror overwhelms my body. He stalks closer, leaning down as he approaches. He reaches out, his arms extended toward my head.

He steps on my ankle, and I give a small scream.

His malicious stare is suddenly replaced with one of concern. It's clearly fake; he's barely holding back a grin. He leans down to examine my injury, however, and touches it gingerly.

"You did a doozy, didn't you Twelve?" He shakes his head, and I refuse to answer. I know he's going to kill me, and I won't give him the satisfaction of hearing my last words.

"If you'd like, I can get you to the base of the mountain. Away from where the others can hurt you." He looks up to the Cornucopia, but I don't follow his gaze. I watch him instead, curious about his words. He isn't going to help me, right?

"Here." He leans down toward me, and I shift away. His expression is now one of pure annoyance, as though any sane person would comply. "We don't have much time. They'll expect me to join them soon."

He bends down again, and I flinch as he picks my upper body up in his right arm. He cradles me to his chest, and I relax slightly. There's a sharp pain as he picks up my leg, and I suppress a groan.

Then I realize his massive fist is wrapped around my swollen ankle, and he's shifting my left arm into his strong grip. My left side is on fire, my tiny frame hanging limply over the black stone. I feel myself raise slightly as he spins once, twice, and then there's no more pain from his grip as I freefall down the side of the mountain.

I almost laugh as I realize that the brute from Two kept his promise.

I _do_ laugh when I realize that I saved Steph from this terrible fate.

* * *

Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District 11

District Eleven Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The gong rings, and I sprint forward without hesitation. There aren't any screams yet, and I push up the mountain to the golden horn. I think I might be ahead of some of the others, despite being younger than most of them. I hear pounding feet to my left, and a Quick glance reveals the girl from One rushing past me. It doesn't matter now, however. It's too late to turn back.

A horrid scream rips the air as I reach the Cornucopia, seconds behind the girls from One and Seven. The girl from Seven is looking for supplies, and I stop to see what loot lies in the horn. The gleam of silver is everywhere around the mouth, and deep inside I see sleeping bags, some food packets, and rope.

I look to the girl from One warily. She's ignoring me in favor of strapping a sword scabbard to her waist, a quiver of arrows slung over her back. A bow and javelin sit at the ground by her feet, having been removed from the horn already.

I shake off the strangeness of the Career's behavior as I remember what I'm doing. I came for some kind of supplies, but I can't very well use what's here, so a weapon will have to do. I'll get a bag on my way back.

Quickly, I bend down to snatch up a long, serrated dagger. I look around for enemies one more time, and I catch other Careers arming themselves. The boy from One is inside the Cornucopia, getting a feel for his mace. The girls from Thirteen and Four have gathered a trident and sword, and are circling each other a few meters away.

I jump as the girl from Seven pushes past me, still searching for supplies. I gasp as I see the boy from One's eyes hone in on me.

 _Time to run, Thorn_. And I do.

I flee for my life, ignoring a sickening _SQUELCH_ as I pass the girls from Four and Thirteen, now locked in combat. The knife in my hand, I know, is no match for that mace, and I don't look back until I'm halfway to the pedestals.

I glance over my shoulder, but see no sign of pursuit. I sigh, catching sight of a dark green pack next to the lava. I run over, happily slinging it over my shoulder. Suddenly very confident, I turn to continue heading back down.

I freeze, however, when I see the girl from Two grinning at me wickedly. I see a small, broken corpse on the neighboring wedge, and I recoil in anger. The light blue of his jacket indicates the boy from Thirteen. He was the youngest of us, and the older girl has the nerve to _smile_.

I feel the heat building in my temple, and I charge forward, screaming. This girl has no right to live. She's a monster, a murderer.

Through the haze of my anger, I see her lift a knife to throw. I duck, but all that earns my is a burning pain in my right shoulder. I drop the knife, hissing in agony. I fall to my knees, cradling my wound.

All I can hear are the slow footsteps of the Two girl. She takes her time, aware that I'm not going anywhere.

She stops, and images flash through my mind. My sister bleeding out, after the Peacekeepers found out my mother had disappeared. My rage in the Training Center. My mother in the hospital wing, explaining everything. Promising to fight for me.

"You should learn to control your temper, Eleven." I look up as the knife flashes, tugging across the side of my neck. Through the pain, I hear the clatter of metal against stone.

I'm gurgling blood. Convulsing uncontrollably. Above me, past the Two girl's face, the sun shines brightly.

The sun is warm, but I am so cold.

* * *

Harvest Miller, Age 14, District 9

District Nine Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Twenty-six children take off running, many going uphill and, I suspect, even more fleeing into the jungle. I know that the boy from Five turned tail and ran, but my hope is that the Careers will be too busy with the others to notice me. Granted, my training score doesn't help me.

The yellow bag is near the mouth of the Cornucopia, about ten meters away from an orange one. The yellow one, however, is directly between me and the Cornucopia. This way, I don't have to turn my back until I'm sprinting away.

I give an involuntary hiss as the boy from Six passes me on my left, bee lining for the bag. I know in that moment that I need that bag. _My_ bag. I must do whatever I can to get it.

I push myself harder, catching up to the older boy. He's larger than me, stronger. But if I catch him while he's grabbing the bag, then maybe…

He bends over, looping his arm through the strap. I leap, allowing all my anger to flood into my arms in an attempt to shove him over, and it works. He drops the bag, throwing his arms off in an attempt to throw me. I don't give him the chance, however, as I jump off his back, allowing him the ability to throw his own weight to the ground. I run uphill to the fallen supplies, gripping both straps in my fist.

I hear a groan from behind me, and I turn toward it. The boy from Six is back on his feet, walking toward me. He's still slightly disoriented, however, and I know that he could catch me before I reach the jungle. It's either give him the bag, fight, or run headlong past the Cornucopia.

I sprint downhill, a rushed plan formulating in my head. The boy looks as if he's gaining strength, walking more than staggering now. When I'm near him, I jump, swinging the bag at his face. Instead of trying to avoid it, he braces himself, and his head doesn't snap back as I might have hoped. He's still moving on the ground, but a call of glee from behind me diverts my attention.

The boy from One is charging toward me, swinging his mace wildly. There's flesh and blood flying everywhere, and I know he was probably told by his mentor to attack Thanatos and I first. So I run, hoping that Marcus won't leave behind the easy kill of the Six boy.

As I run, I listen hard. A shrill laugh echoes around the mountain, growing fainter before stopping short. I don't hear any signs of pursuit, however, and I risk looking back. The Six boy is dodging around the mace, but it's only a matter of time before he dies. I should feel guilty, but I did it to survive.

As I reach the base of the mountain, I stop for a moment, breathing shakily. I wonder who's already dead at this point. At least one, the flesh on that mace had to come from somewhere. I look up at the boys from One and Six again, and I want to cry as I see someone with fiery orange hair holding a bow near the top of the volcano. I turn away, not wanting to see what I have done.

I shouldn't be here. Stupid Capitol. Stupid rebellion. Wheat was in my position for years ago because my mother and father were active rebels. Mother suspected that I was Reaped because of her actions, which ceased years ago. No. It's because Wheat followed her path, and now I've gotten someone killed.

I reach the tree line, but stop short. A boy is walking toward me, his jacket such a deep red it's purple. I recognize the tall figure of the boy from Five, the one who was launched next to me. There's a slightly greedy look in his eyes, but also one of fear. His eyes dart upward behind me, quickly looking back.

The massive tree limb in his grasp is more than a little imposing. He hefts it over his shoulder, glaring.

"Please hand over that bag, Nine. We don't have much time, and I need it more than you do." He takes a step forward, and I flinch back. I recall him using a staff in training, and while I wouldn't be worried about taking him, I don't have a weapon. He does.

"Come on, Nine, I said please. We _really_ don't have time for this, and I honestly would rather not kill you." Slowly, reluctantly, I slip the bag from my shoulders. _This_ is what I got that boy killed for. To lose the supplies to a coward without honor. I drop it at my feet.

His eyes narrow as he takes another tentative step. I step back again, aware of the ground I'm losing. Surely, the Careers are close behind.

"Just take the bag and go." I plead, losing a few more steps. He cocks his head, collecting the pack. After he secures it to his shoulders, he looks at me again.

"What did you do, Nine?" He asks, and I almost laugh. Now? "For that nine, I mean."

"I didn't-"

"What did you do!" He steps toward me, and now I feel the heat of the lava warming my calves.

I step back, fear depriving me from speech. His glare is like fire, his scowl menacing. He raises the club.

Pain explodes through my chest, before my body erupts in fire. I scream.

* * *

Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District 1

District One Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The gong sounds, and suddenly it's like I can't see. Everything around me is a blur, save for the Cornucopia and the bounty found inside. A bounty for me and my allies to take. A bounty I have to protect.

I hear a distant scream before I'm halfway to the horn. I hope one of the others got the boy from Thirteen. I nearly killed him after his stunts in training. It would be all too satisfying to see his face in the sky tonight.

I'm nearly there, I can feel it. I allow my mind's eye to wander to the hammer that's sure to be waiting there, on it's own stand. The Gamemakers are ever so gracious to-

I give a small cry as my face collides hard with the ground. I sit still for a moment, mentally checking myself. I don't feel hurt, save for a throbbing in my jaw and ankle, and my bleeding nose. Slowly, I survey the area. The girl from Seven is looking through the supplies, unaware of how close the two of us are. I get up slowly, looking down at the small hole that I happened to step in. I feel my cheeks flush, imagining what they must be thinking back home.

Shaking my head, I break into a sprint, determined to show them what I can do. I am here to win, and I must focus.

I'm still sprinting as I pass the boy from Eleven and the girls from Seven and Thirteen. I can't get a good kill without a weapon. I need my hammer.

I'm disappointed when I find that there are very little supplies here, just a bunch of sleeping bags and rope. I guess the Gamemakers didn't want the outer Districts to see there was nothing; that's why the Cornucopia is on top of a volcano. I can feel the heat seeping in through the floor, and I wonder how I'll be able to sleep at night.

I grunt in frustration when I see the weapons littered on the ground. There're swords, knives, spears- is that a crossbow?- but no hammer. I curse inwardly. _Maybe a Sponsor will send one_.

Reluctantly, I pick up the weapon that I'm good with, yet prefer to not use. The ball-and-chain mace is a little heavy, with no grip on the handle; just sheer metal. I sigh, swinging it experimentally. This will have to do.

I look to the mouth, where I see the boy from Eleven, watching me. I take a step forward, and he flees, only a knife in hand. I didn't want to kill _him_ anyway.

I catch sight of the girl from Seven as I approach the open air, and she doesn't notice me for a moment. Once, she does, however, her eyes widen in fear, and she turns, dropping the hatchet she had been carrying. I sprint after her, catching up to her after only a few strides.

On instinct, I swing the mace around, and the girl's momentum sends us both tumbling forward. I stand, checking myself for injuries for a second time. I look down at the girl from Seven.

Her once beautiful face, the one that enthralled the Capitol, is a bloody mess, something seen in horror movies (or, perhaps, the Hunger Games). I can see my mace, wrapped around her neck and torn away from the fall, resulting in the near-beheading of the girl.

I moan in disgust as I jerk my weapon from the corpse, further mangling the body. There's blood, and bone, and warped flesh, and I turn away, looking for other targets.

I catch sight of the girl from Nine and the boy from Six fighting across the lava, over a backpack. I recall Gloss telling me to take out the Nines as early as possible. I guess I can take care of one now.

Unwilling to make the jump, I'm forced to run back uphill to where the rock spans over the flow, and I reason that there must be something like tunnels under the stone. I charge on the fighting pair, before I catch the girl's eye, causing her to hit the boy over the head with the bag and bolt. I snarl. I can still get Six.

He stands groggily, having probably suffered more than one blow to the head. He looks around in a panic, and ducks just as I swing for his head. My momentum carries me past him, but I recover quickly, looking up at the boy. He's my age. He could be trouble.

He tries to run around and past me, but the gap here is relatively narrow, and he can't avoid me. I end up chasing him around the hard, barren ground, unable to land a blow but refusing to let him get away. Every one I take down is one less for later. I will win this.

Finally there's a misstep, and the boy crashes to the ground, rolling a little way. He looks up at me as I charge triumphantly, hoping to make this a little less bloody. If they'd given me the freaking hammer…

With no warning, I'm thrown to the ground for what must be the third time in five minutes. Pain shoots through my back, like lightning struck my fighting arm. I drop my weapon, writhing in agony as it rolls away. I roll onto my back, hoping to breathe better, but the pain becomes more unbearable as I'm suddenly stopped.

Feet rush past me, and I almost cry in relief as I see Malaya, bow and quiver slung on her back, javelin in hand, following after the boy. He swipes an orange backpack on the way down, but I'm not worried. Malaya will catch him.

I close my eyes as they disappear into the jungle.

* * *

Esmeralda Dawn, Age 18, District 4

District Four Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

As I reach the Cornucopia, I look around at the bounty of supplies. I'm confused, however, to find what little there actually _is_ here. I suppose they're going to be expecting us to find sustenance in the jungle. _Like the outer Districts._ I snarl.

I tense, my hunter's instinct sending a series of sirens through my veins. I feel the adrenaline overtake me, and I drop to me knees, rolling over a sword, which I grab as I jump back to my feet. I turn to face my attacker, and I smile.

"Fancy finding you here, _Thirteen_." I say seductively, and the girl rolls her eyes, annoyed. She raises the trident again.

"Let's get this over with, _Four_." She hisses, lunging forward. I jump out of the way, swinging downward. She avoids my blow, however, and retreats a little ways down the hillside. I follow, sword raised. She angles her trident for my throat, holding her ground.

I attack first, planning to catch the younger girl off guard. She blocks, however, and reciprocates with another lunge. I jump back, but I'm forced to duck as she allows the weapon to slip an extra few inches through her grasp. She quickly pulls back, however, scowling as she realizes she didn't score a hit.

We continue our dance, and I'm surprised at her stamina and strength. I'm mainly dodging her strikes, sending my own slashes her way when I see an opening. Tributes pass by us, but _Rebelle_ and I are too busy fighting in the middle of our storm of hatred to care. I have no reason to hate her, really. She just wants to kill me because I trained for this. I want to kill her because she's my opponent.

We couldn't have been fighting for more than a couple minutes when the Twos appear, ignoring us in favor of looking through the supplies. I don't know where the Ones are, but quite frankly, I don't care.

I can tell that Thirteen is wearing down, losing strength. Her lunges are growing less frequent, allowing me to get closer. I can't quite get close enough to kill her, however, as I just don't have the reach.

At last, I see her mistake. She spins the trident, arcing the non-sharp end toward my head. I duck, stepping in close. I swing my own blade toward her right side, her dominant side. She recovers faster than I might have imagined, however, and catches my sword between the prongs. She gives a quick twist, and I cry out as it's ripped from my grasp, spiraling behind the young girl.

I hear Cassia call out, but I ignore her. Rebelle has a fire in her glare as she advances, slowly. I smirk, cocking my head. _Bring it, girl_.

She shoves her weapon forward, and I sidestep. While she slips it for extra reach, I grab it, wrenching it from the girl's grasp. I spin, cementing the weapon in both hands. As I face the pale-skinned girl again, I thrust.

The girl gives a gasp of surprise as she looks down at the unnatural steel protruding from her stomach.

I hear a sound, similar to the twang of a bowstring yet somehow sharper, followed by a flash of black between me and Thirteen, a hiss, and the horrible sound of retching. I watch as Rebelle's eyes glaze over, before she gives a last choke, falling.

I turn to the Cornucopia, where Soot is still heaving his breakfast. His knuckles are white around the crossbow he found, and I'm relieved that _we_ managed to keep possession of it. I narrow my eyes as I stalk over to the miner boy, the Twos following suit.

"What are you doing with that, little boy?" I ask, looking down. Soot slowly meets my gaze, fear in his eyes. I smile. "You weren't trying to… _kill_ me, were you?" His face pales further, and I snarl. "Answer me!"

"I-I didn't-" He stutters, throwing it away. "I didn't know how to, um, use it. Sorry Mera." He mumbles the last part, looking away from me. I smirk, preparing for my show.

"You're _sorry_?" I ask in disbelief. "Oh, he's sorry guys. It's okay." I turn to the Twos, suddenly aware that the Ones are still missing. I laugh, looking back at the boy. "Guess what?" I ask him. He looks into my eyes, his fear turned to hope.

"I don't believe you."

His eyes widen in terror, and he stands, taking a few steps back. I follow him, deeper into the Cornucopia. He's stuttering, stumbling, before he trips over a spear. I smile, lifting up the weapon.

"Let me help you." I say, driving it into his leg. He stares me in the face, but no sound escapes him. "Cassia, let me see one of your knives please."

* * *

Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District 13

District Thirteen Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The gong rings, and I run forward without hesitation. For the moment, the only sound is that of pounding feet, as twenty-six children run toward their fate. Some may flee down the mountain and into the darkness of the jungle, unwilling to risk a quick death now in exchange for a more drawn-out death later.

The lava flowing to my right makes me sweat, but I have to ignore that for now. I am alone on my little wedge, the boys from Seven and Ten having already fled the area. But people seldom run and survive without stealing from another. I was the bright one here, and I'll laugh as I usually do when their faces show in the sky in a couple days.

The bag is a hundred meters from my pedestal, up the mountain. It's steeper here than it seemed during the countdown, and I stumble slightly as more sweat runs into my eyes. I slip my finger under my glasses as I hesitate, wiping them as thoroughly as I dare. I don't have any time to waste.

I reach the bag, and bend over, slipping the black strap up my arm. Adjusting can come later. When I'm safe.

I see movement in front of me, where the girls from Two and Five are rushing forward. I hadn't realized I was so fast.

Both grab the throwing knife vest on the ground in front of them, but the girl from Five is forced to drop it in order to duck out of the way of Two's flying steel.

Everything seems to slow down. I can see that Five had held onto a blade as she dropped the vest, and threw it at her opponent as another flew over her head. I can see that other knife, a ten-inch piece of metal honed to a point in some factory somewhere, arcing lazily through the air.

Two screams as Five's weapon impales her hand, and it mingles with my scream of pain. Five picks up the vest while Two is distracted, and flees down the mountainside.

Two curses in rage, and I think she throws a knife at Five's back. But I'm too busy with the one embedded in my stomach to care.

It's unnatural in my body, and I pull it out, sending tendrils of fire dancing up my spine. A scream rips my throat, and I collapse to my knees. I look up, to where the girl from Two is. I see a glint of metal through the haze of the heat, through my tears, through the most pain I have ever felt in my life.

There's a numb sensation of shredding in my neck, and I collapse, choking.

I wonder if Mother is going to miss me. Or even remember me.

* * *

 **Holy shoot this is depressing me, geez…**

 **I will hold back death announcements until the recaps each night.**

 **dreams and desperation: 161 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 79 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **caitiebug007: 85 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **roses burning: 98 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **The First Adventuress: 179 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 95 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 126 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male**_ **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 59 (** _ **Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male**_ **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 166 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **Jaybird8101: 130 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female**_ **)**

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers (161 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (161,** _ **dreams and desperation**_ **), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).**

 **Reluctance (72 points): Infiniti (3) (72,** _ **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans**_ **), and Kenzi (7).**

 **Brains and Brawn (126 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (126,** _ **Clis2339**_ **).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (166 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (166,** _ **Mystical Pine Forest**_ **), and Keola (12).**

 **Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).**

 **Maybe Alliance!**

 **Malaran (Araya?) (179 points): Malaya (1),**

 **Loners!**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (183) (85,** _ **catiebug007**_ **) (98,** _ **roses burning**_ **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Aran (6) (179) (179,** _ **The First Adventuress**_ **)**

 **Logan (7) (95) (95,** _ **JaymanRepublic**_ **)**

 **Tulle (8)**

 **Harvest (9)**

 **Thanatos (9) (59) (59,** _ **Wolfie McCoy**_ **)**

 **Rebelle (13) (130) (130,** _ **Jaybird8101**_ **)**

 **Sparky (13)**

 **Questions!**

 **So, um… who do you think died?**

 **What do you think of our tributes' situations?**

 **Any thoughts on the future?**

 **Concerns?**

 **I wrote this last bit while running on 30 mins of sleep. Over almost 2 days. Anything feel wrong or anything?**

 **Until the end of the day,'**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	28. Into the Darkness- Day One

**And here we are with Day 1! Here we will find out a little bit more about the Arena, check up on our tributes' supplies, and maybe reunite with some allies! Let's do this!**

 **Reviews!**

 **roses burning: Thanks for letting me know about the "Thhirteen" thing, I went back and fixed it and gosh I'm embarrassed lol. Thanks for the review!**

 **Clis2339: I assure you, now that I'm out of the walking boot and in a brace, I should be able to catch more sleep. Thanks for the review, and your kind words!**

 **dreams and desperation: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, it's been honestly the easiest to write so far (I think that the action and blood might be what's helping me. I think I'm a psychopath now.) and I'm really excited to see how these Games play out. Thanks for the review!**

 **The First Adventuress: Oh, trust me, I am** _ **bringing it**_ **. And really, it** _ **does**_ **feel great to have finally made it this far. I'm super excited for what's to come, and I hope you enjoy it!**

 **If you haven't already, I must ask that you read through the chapter before jumping to the bottom to see who all died today. Those guilty of skipping will… Well, I guess I can't stop you.**

* * *

Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8

District Eight Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

This jungle terrifies me slightly. No, more than slightly. Every sound, every rustle of the tall trees around me makes me jump, and I can't stop myself from wondering what horrors lie in wait, in the darkness.

Of course, the screaming that's been going on the past five minutes doesn't help either.

I'm not that far past the tree line, as I told Blue I'd wait for him to find me somewhere close to the Cornucopia. Of course, I wasn't expecting to wait twenty minutes for the older boy to show up. I wish he'd get here, because then I could get away from the Bloodbath and the screams.

They echo around the mountain, and I suspect that they're the reason the initial cannons haven't gone off yet, because the Careers are playing around with some poor, defenseless tribute. They're waiting until he's dead to sound the death toll. I wonder how long he'll last. I know it's a boy, probably around my age, maybe younger. Being around the hospital in Eight has its perks for something, I suppose.

I take a deep breath, looking down at the jungle floor. There's moss everywhere, vines, plants, and insects, mostly ants, are scattered around, nearly covering the volcanic earth. I wonder what kind of plan the Gamemakers are going to put into motion, and I remember again, the shadows that dot the area. The trees are tall, the branches and leaves thick, leaving parts of the jungle pitch-black in the middle of the day.

I shift slightly, listening to my jacket rub against the bark of the tree I'm sitting in, about twenty feet above the ground. I decided it would be best to wait for Blue up here, where other tributes can't get to me first. This massive tree limb, thicker than the boy from Two is wide, makes the perfect place to sit.

And wait.

Sighing deeply, I finger the zipper of the backpack. _My_ backpack. I shouldn't open it; Blue would want to be here. I think so, at least. But I'm curious. I risked my life to get this, though I went particularly ignored. I guess the Careers were more intent on Nine and Thirteen and Seven than the small, insignificant boy from Eight.

 _Screw it_. I think, yanking the blue bag open. Then I stop. I don't want anybody to hear me digging through my supplies. I peek inside, carefully removing the first item.

It's a plastic baggie, filled with a little more than a dozen strawberries. Fresh, juicy strawberries. I open the bag quickly, withdrawing a single fruit from the bag. I bite into it eagerly, aware that I must save the rest as long as possible, even though they will go bad quickly. I carefully replace the strawberries, and pull out a coiled bullwhip. I'm surprised; there aren't usually weapons of this caliber in bags. A knife, sure. A hatchet, maybe once a decade. But anything better than that? Never.

One by one, I remove the items from the bag, examining them for a moment before replacing them. Besides the strawberries (fourteen now) and the whip, I find five (filled) water bottles, one of which I take a long swig from, a baggie like the one with strawberries, except with dried peaches (I opt to save those), a small vial of iodine, and four ACE wrap bandages, good for splints and, if required, puncture wounds. All in all, I feel I got a good score from the Cornucopia, even if I never actually went inside the horn. I wonder, for a moment, at what might be up there…

I shake my head as the screams meet a new height. They're not so much cries of fear as they are of anger, betrayal and pain. I'm beginning to suspect that this may be the _real_ reason the Careers asked the Twelve boy to join them, but I have no desire to find out. I'll see when they show the faces of the dead tonight.

I freeze as the jungle goes quiet, as though waiting to see what is going to happen. I press myself against the rough bark, asking the Capitol for the millionth time why Eight has to wear a golden yellow in the Arena as their District color. This is why we often die early on…

I hold my breath as something moves in the shadow of a nearby tree. The glint of silver darts from the darkness, followed by the wielder. I sigh quietly as I recognize the blue of the boy's jacket, his dirty blond hair a mess, eyes scanning his surroundings. His lips are moving, whispering.

He looks up at me, startled, as I call quietly, "Blue!"

* * *

Mason Lepodolite, Age 18, District 2

District Two Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I smirk as the Twelve boy's mutilated corpse stops squirming under the weight of the ropes that Cassia and I are holding. I drop mine as my District Partner recovers her knife from Mera, who had already begun to clean it off. We step back out into the sunlight, the heat, as the cannons finally start firing.

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

"We'd better clear out for a few minutes, let them pick up the bodies. And maybe see if we can find what's happened to the Ones." Mera suggests, looking for the sword she dropped in her fight with the girl from Thirteen. Cassia shrugs, starting down the mountainside, her vest filled with over a dozen knives of all shapes and sizes.

I strap a sword to my belt and haul the Twelve boy into the sunlight, figuring it will give the hovercraft better access.

Mera and I shrug to each other, realizing that Cassia is going off alone whether we like it or not. We split ourselves, figuring we could maybe search the dead for the One tributes. It would be really lame if they had died this early in the Game.

I groan as I catch sight of a light, sickly green jacket halfway down the side of the mountain that I had chosen to take. Keeping my walking pace, I approach the prone form of my ally.

I take in the arrow lodged in his shoulder, the bloodied mace, and the dark crimson creating a small pool on the boy's back. I take another few steps, wondering who might have done this. Malaya uses a bow, but would she have killed her District Partner? It's a bit early for that. Maybe the girl from Ten was a better archer than we all thought… She seemed pretty horrible in training, though-

I'm shaken from my thoughts as a groan breaks between Marcus' lips. He raises his head slightly, and I'm left with a decision. I can either go look for a pack, and hopefully some bandages, making it impossible for the hovercraft to show up, or, I can take the near-unconscious boy with me, caring for him in the jungle.

Sighing, I throw my ally over my shoulder and carry him down the mountain. I notice that there are no packs on this particular wedge, and I wonder just how many are left to supply us. If it comes to it, we may have to find a place to camp down here, not that I wouldn't mind being away from the sweltering heat of the Cornucopia.

I march through the tree line, gently laying Marcus down on a bed of moss. I look at the arrow for a moment, unsure of what to do. All we learned back home was stab, slash, and kill. Nothing about saving lives. True warriors don't need to be saved.

I sigh, deciding that it would be best to get the arrow out. Now, before the wound scabs over. I remember watching a Game where a tribute's scabbed-over wound got infected because she left a small, dirty piece of a knife in there, thinking the Games would end soon and the Capitol would save her. The Victor that year won by default, the Gamemakers prolonging the Game for a week so the girl could die. Yes, best to get the arrow out.

I worry slightly about how my image in the Capitol will be affected by my sudden change in character, but I push the thought away. This needs to be done, lest we lose too many members of the alliance so soon. I haven't seen hide nor hair of Malaya yet, and Blue abandoned ship before the Games even started. We may have already lost Malaya, we can't lose both Ones on the same day.

The boy moans from his prone position on the ground, and I straddle his lower back, figuring I'd need the leverage to remove the projectile from his shoulder. I grasp the shaft in both hands, and I gather my strength for a quick jerk, figuring it would be easiest. I tug with all my strength, though the arrow releases Marcus with little resistance. I topple off the boy, who's attempting to curl up from the pain.

I examine the barbed head, fascinated by the bits of flesh dangling from the sharp tips. None of my kills were like this, both were bloodless and relatively painless, victories of brute strength and superiority. Nothing as vicious or cunning as a silver arrow.

I bend down over the boy, watching as blood slowly trickles down his spine, a small pool forming above his hips. I look back to the Cornucopia. There's likely no time for me to get supplies at this point, and from what I saw, there isn't much that can help me.

I straighten my back, surveying the area. The large leaves in the nearby trees will have to make a suitable bandage, and perhaps a vine to tie it all off. I roll my head around, popping my neck. In one quick stride, I'm standing beside the nearest tree, and I reach up, hoisting myself onto the lowest branch. Before I know it, I'm halfway to the top, and I grab three massive leaves, which could honestly wrap around a smaller person's shoulders.

As quickly as I climbed up, I make my way down. Marcus is now sitting up, his eyes glassed over. I snatch a thick vine from the jungle floor before making my way toward him. He barely glances at me, his eyes staring ahead.

"Where's Malaya?" He asks quietly.

"Marcus." I say, "I need you to remove your jacket and undershirt. These Capitol arrows mean business, and we need to treat that."

Slowly, he removes his clothing, and I quickly press two of the leaves to the wound. "Where's Malaya?" He repeats, wincing from the pressure.

"We don't know." I answer, carefully tying a small knot between his shoulder blades.

"She shot me." I pause, shocked, thinking.

"We'll get her."

* * *

Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

District Seven Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I know I must have been in here an hour and a half, but still I can hear the rapid beats of my heart. The Bloodbath is over, I know, the cannons have already gone off. But I'm still afraid. That is perhaps the true meaning of the Game, the psychological torture of knowing Death can show his swift hand at any moment, and you'd never see it coming.

I think the eight fallen might be the lucky ones. I few seconds of fear or pain, and then nothing as their soul drifts into the dark forest.

I shake my head. I have to calm down. The pack on my shoulders hangs heavy, pressing down on me as I ponder on how much it cost. Images of the Thirteen boy, looking down at the knife in his belly in horror, and the screams that followed, are going to haunt me tonight. I could have died. I could have died…

I give a groan of frustration as my foot snags another vine. I've been walking for at least an hour without stopping. Maybe I'm safe enough for the time being.

I scan the area quickly, almost wishing I had stumbled upon some sort of clearing in the trees, but no such luck. The jungle is dark, the trees pressing close together in all directions. It's almost impossible to not get lost in here, not without scaling the massive mangroves. That's where I'm lucky, I suppose, being from Seven.

I sit down, lifting the bag from my shoulders before pressing my back into a little alcove in the trunk of a tree. Here, I'm trapped if I'm found, but I will not be easily seen. I should be able to look through my prizes before danger kicks me in the face.

As quickly and quietly as possible, I unzip the purple backpack, throwing my hand inside. I curl my fingers around the first prize they touch, and I withdraw. I frown in disappointment at the small box of dried grapes, something I vaguely remember Lily snacking on while watching the T.V. Carefully, I set the small box on the ground, determined to save it as long as possible.

Hoping there's nothing fragile inside the bag, I throw caution to the wind, dumping it all out at once. Multiple items hit the forest floor, and I freeze as a small vial rolls out. Everything seems to slow down, and I cringe as the glass bottle smashes to the ground. The liquid inside, a devilishly purple substance, bubbles and hisses as the ground absorbs it, and then it's gone.

Shaking, I put the bag down, looking over my haul. I've already lost whatever was in the bottle, but perhaps I can make use of the rest of this.

Besides the raisins, I find that there are ten grain bars, three rolls of ACE bandages and a rolled up piece of paper. I open it cautiously, and I gasp.

While I have next to no food, and no way to contain water, I certainly have an advantage over the others, maybe even the Careers! The paper between my hands has no writing, but one large picture. A map. I see that the Cornucopia is in the center of a small island. I can see a cliff to the northwest, perhaps ten kilometers from my current location, if I'm right. While it isn't detailed much more than that, simply having it is quite reassuring.

Perhaps I don't need to be afraid yet.

* * *

Darius Line, Age 17, District 5

District Five Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

It's got to be two or three in the afternoon and I'm still shaking. I'm really deep in the jungle, having ran as fast as I possibly could after the Bloodbath. After I killed her.

I still don't understand why I did it. I had the supplies in the pack, why did I have to go the extra mile and actually _kill her_? I can still see the look of horror and betrayal ruining her (admittedly beautiful) features, still hear her horrible screams as they became gurgles behind me. I'm a murderer. A _monster_.

My breath is coming in shallow, heaving gasps as I finally collapse, away from the carnage and the brutality and the nightmares. She was so young, and for what? Tributes get fluke scores all the time, did I really kill her for _that_? She didn't deserve it, and now she's among the first eight to appear in the sky of the Sixth Quarter Quell Arena.

Shakily, I slip the pack off my shoulders, though the process takes longer than it probably should. I remember again the young girl steadily holding the yellow backpack out to me, believing me when I said I wouldn't hurt her. I hadn't planned to, but…

I shake my head again. It shouldn't matter this much to me. Through her death, I might be able to survive now. I unzip the bag, my hands a little steadier than before. Pulling the mouth wide, I peer in.

The first thing I notice is the glint of silver. A knife. It isn't very long, but it can do the job when needed. Wrapped around the weapon is a thick coil of wire, probably left mainly for the Three tributes. I don't know as much about wire as they might, but perhaps I could rig something. There's a thin tube, a little over a foot in length, a plastic bag containing half a dozen darts attached to it.

Carefully, I remove all my items from the bag, and look over them. Besides the knife, wire, blowgun and darts, I find a long coil of rope, ten matches, and two empty water bottles. I search through the bag again quickly, hoping desperately that I might find some kind of food. Nothing.

I really shouldn't complain too much, though. I'm alive, I have supplies, I have a weapon. Eight are dead and my odds of survival has surely grown exponentially.

But at what cost?

* * *

Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3

District Three Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The sun is going to set soon, and still I can't find my ally. It's no wonder, however, seeing how thick and dark this jungle is. I could be hopelessly lost right now and not even know it. Luckily, for the moment, I have no desire to be anywhere in particular. Wandering is the only thing I can honestly do, and the Gamemakers can't be bored yet.

Not with the eight children already dead earlier today.

Eight. Honestly on the low end, but still around average. I'll have to find a break in the trees or something to see the death recap tonight, and as the day grows old, I'm becoming increasingly worried about what will be revealed. I remember Cordin mentioning that he was just going to run, and Kenzi assured me of the same thing. I shouldn't see them, but I can't _not_ worry until I can be certain.

I know I'm several kilometers from the Cornucopia and the volcano by now, and the Careers will still be sorting through their supplies. I hope they don't have much, that what I took dealt a blow to their chances of survival.

I had sorted through my blue backpack before the cannons went off, about thirty minutes after the gong. I understood then why it had been so heavy, and I quickly took a swig from one of the five filled bottles of water. I also managed to acquire over a dozen strawberries, a bag of dried fruit, a bottle of iodine, a few bandages and even a bullwhip. A decent haul, something that should sustain Kenzi and I until we can find food and water sources.

I'm surprised at how calm I am here. I had always imagined myself curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth and muttering to myself as a Career bore down on me. The stillness and isolation here, however, is almost relaxed, peaceful. Much unlike the loud and busy factories in Three. Heck, I can actually breathe here. I feel as though I haven't accepted such clean, fresh air in, well… ever. In reality, it's the sad truth.

I wonder what they're thinking back home. Mama, Papa, Riker. Laci. Bo. Are they worried for me? Do they have any hope that I'll make it? My odds this morning were 26-1. Now that I've outlived so many others, how has that changed?

I sit down against a small tree near the edge of a clearing. I slide my bag from my shoulders again, deciding to snack on another strawberry. It's interesting how people at home would do anything for one of these red fruits, and yet I've had them my whole life. I even get the luxury of their taste in the Hunger Games. If I win, I'm going to hand strawberries out every day as I go about my errands. Allow those who, admittedly, are more deserving of such a treat to actually get one or two.

 _However_ , I think as a cloud blocks out more of what little light filters through the trees, _the odds of actually going home are even slimmer than they seem_. I have to find Kenzi. As the Careers have found, in the Arena, there is strength in numbers.

* * *

Willow Orchids, Age 13, District 11

District Eleven Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I don't know how long I've been waiting here, on the banks of a wide river, wondering when on earth Thorn is going to come find me. I've set up a little camp, happy to be on the side of the water opposite the Cornucopia and the Careers.

It's getting dark, and that scares me. My District Partner told me to turn and run, straight behind my pedestal, that he'd brave the Cornucopia for supplies. That he'd find me. But he isn't here. Eight cannons went off today. What if he's one of them?

Despite my own protests, memories of this morning surface again. Fighting Keola from Twelve for my bag. The sharp _crack_ as she fell. Her own screams, cutting through the air behind me as I fled through the jungle, before stopping abruptly. She is almost certainly dead, I know, and while I didn't kill her myself, I assisted in her final moments.

Perhaps, if Thorn is dead, it is punishment for depriving the Twelve girl of life.

I shake the thought away. _There's no way of knowing until the death recap_. I remind myself. I sigh, nibbling at a piece of fruit I found just beyond the clearing I've set myself up in. The rest of my supplies are hidden among the shrubbery, my water bottles iodizing among my other scores. A bag of dried fruit, ten matches which I must save as long as possible, a small vial of dark purple liquid, a liquid which smells suspiciously like nightlock juice, and a metal cylinder, one whose use I've yet to discover. Not a lot to share among two people, but this fruit isn't poisonous and the iodine should last at least two weeks.

I'm shaken from my musings as I hear the national anthem play over the Arena. Quickly, I stand, scaling a tall tree that I had determined would give me the best view. As fast as humanly possible, I make it to the top, or as close to the top as I dare.

The seal of Panem fades, showing the first face of the night. I'm surprised to see the girl from Seven, the one whose pranks and jokes the Capitol loved so much. If she didn't die today, I suspect she would have made it far.

Next is the girl from Eight, who I remember was running from Mason after the gong. I guess she must have been caught.

Another surprise is the girl from Nine, another one everyone was rooting for.

I give a small sob as Thorn's face appears, one last time before he's gone forever. Tears fill my eyes, streaming down my face like acid. My ally. My only friend in this new, terrifying world. He was so much stronger than me, so much braver. I should have discouraged him from running in.

I can't help but cry harder when I see Keola, and I know that I'm now a murderer. It's my fault. All my fault.

I climb back down, knowing that I've seen all I need to see. There are only three people after the Twelve girl, and only three cannons unaccounted for. Twelve and Thirteen never make it far, though I was at least hoping this year could be different.

As the last strains of the anthem fade out, my sobs suddenly seem louder. The sudden stillness of the night, however, makes me more tired than I probably should be after that ordeal. I cast one last thought toward my friend before I fall asleep, silently preparing for another terror-filled day.

* * *

 **26** **th** **Place: Sparky Montgomery, District 13 Male, Age 12**

 **Took a knife to the throat courtesy of Cassia Maurise, District 2 Female**

 **Time in Arena: 27 seconds**

 **Sparky was the tribute I never expected to receive. Every Games has their established crazy, and Sparky, on the outside, seemed to fit that. But he was so much more. He was intelligent. Complex. He didn't give a crap about what others thought of him and I loved him for it. Thanks Rina for an amazing Bloodbath tribute, I hope I wrote him well.**

 **25** **th** **Place: Kenzi Williams, District 7 Female, Age 16**

 **Nearly beheaded by Marcus Caelum, District 1 Male**

 **Time in Arena: 1 minute 24 seconds**

 **Kenzi was a fun tribute that I was unsure about. Her prankster ways seemed to be a bit much to me and thus I honestly began to dislike her. I know that my readers liked her, but she just wasn't… clicking for me, you know? And so, this girl, who pied her escort (like mad) and even Julius Incandes himself, finds herself in 25** **th** **place. Thanks Jay for accepting my decision to take her out.**

 **24** **th** **Place: Tulle Salane, District 8 Female, Age 15**

 **Neck snapped by Mason Lepodolite, District 2 Male**

 **Time in Arena: 2 minutes 6 seconds**

 **When I read Tulle's form, I fell in love. Honestly, I thought that she could potentially be my Victor. You can even ask Misty, I told her I cried a little when I saw she was a Bloodbath. I'm not sure what it was, but she stood out to me, and I just… I don't know. I wanted her death to be quick, so I got Mason angry enough to kill her right after the gong. Thanks Misty for Tulle.**

 **23** **rd** **Place: Thorn Ashburry, District 11 Male, Age 13**

 **Received a knife to the throat thanks to Cassia Maurise, District 2 Female**

 **Time in Arena: 2 minutes 12 seconds**

 **Ansley, man! When you sent in Thorn, I knew I had to have him in the Games. I had teased around a bit with him taking down a Career late in the Game before being impaled on a dozen knives and a sword in the beginning, but… I didn't know if you were even reading, dude! I haven't heard from you since back in District One, and I just… Yeah, he fell.**

 **22nd Place: Harvest Miller, District 9 Female, Age 14**

 **Shoved into flowing lava by Darius Line, District 5 Male**

 **Time in Arena: 3 minutes 7 seconds**

 **I think we all knew Harvest was never going to win. Nobody liked her all that much, which is understandable knowing her relations to a Victor. It's overused, and I'm guilty of using that storyline with another of my tributes. She died at Darius' hand so that I might be able to expand on him a little bit. I hope Wheat didn't lose his little sister for nothing.**

 **21** **st** **Place: Keola Foeba, District 12 Female, Age 13**

 **Thrown off a mountain by Mason Lepodolite, District 2 Male**

 **Time in Arena: 3 minutes 23 seconds**

 **Keola was another victim of reviews. Keola, to me, was a rather weak character, she just didn't stand out to me. She was sweet, really, and I would have loved to mess a little with her health issues a little bit more before she had gone, but I never heard from her submitter. I'm sorry, Keola, but Volunteering wasn't all that brilliant on your part, even for a friend's sake. Thanks for Keola, Superepicstarkette.**

 **20** **th** **Place: Rebelle Rine, District 13 Female, Age 13**

 **Impaled on her own trident thanks to Esmeralda Dawn, District 4 Female**

 **Time in Arena: 13 minutes**

 **Rebelle was a tribute restricted by the nature of this Quell. Originally created to be older, if I remember correctly, she was here to conquer the world.** _ **Her**_ **relationship with a Victor was interesting, and I wonder how Crysta's District feels about their Victor rooting for another District… if they even know. Storm, Rebelle was a fine tribute, but she's just too young for this.**

 **19** **th** **Place: Soot Maloy, District 12 Male, Age 13**

 **Tortured to death by Esmeralda Dawn, District 4 Female**

 **Time in Arena: 44 minutes, 34 seconds**

 **Rysel, Soot's death is one that is going to haunt me. He wasn't originally going to die like this; it was going to be quick, like a tomahawk to the skull or something. But Mera knows how to please people, and she knows the Capitol would frown upon a quick, clean betrayal of an ally. Soot was a fun tribute to write, and I'm sad to see him go so soon.**

 **dreams and desperation: 212 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 87 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **caitiebug007: 93 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **roses burning: 109 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **The First Adventuress: 190 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 103 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 137 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male**_ **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 67 (** _ **Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male**_ **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 174 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **Jaybird8101: 130 (** _ **Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female**_ **)**

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers (212 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (212,** _ **dreams and desperation**_ **), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Brains and Brawn (137 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (137,** _ **Clis2339**_ **).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (174 points): Denny (10), and Cheyenne (10) (174,** _ **Mystical Pine Forest**_ **).**

 **Maybe Alliance!**

 **Malaran (Araya?) (190 points): Malaya (1), Aran (6) (190,** _ **The First Adventuress**_ **)**

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3) (80) (80,** _ **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans**_ **)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (202) (93,** _ **catiebug007**_ **) (109,** _ **roses burning**_ **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Aran (6) (190) (190,** _ **The First Adventuress**_ **)**

 **Logan (7) (103) (103,** _ **JaymanRepublic**_ **)**

 **Thanatos (9) (67) (67,** _ **Wolfie McCoy**_ **)**

 **Willow (11)**

 **Questions!**

 **Thoughts on my eulogies?**

 **Sad to see someone go?**

 **Surprised to see someone go?**

 **Predictions on the future?**

 **What was in Logan's vial?**

 **How long do you think the Game will last?**


	29. When the Dust Clears- Day One Recap

**Well guys, summer is actually here! I'm hoping to get into the final eight before school starts up again, but honestly, who knows? I decided it might be good to cover some action outside the Arena, from the mentors and Districts and Capitol. Thus, I plan to have a chapter like this up after every Arena day, though I'm not sure how good an idea that truly is.**

 **Reviews!**

 **Wolfie McCoy: Thank you for your kind words, it's good to hear from you again!**

 **dreams and desperation: I'm glad you think I'm doing well with Cassia, I worry about all my tributes when it comes to how well I'm portraying them. Thanks for the review!**

 **SparkHat: Happy to have you here! Thanks for the review!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: Yeah, I thought including the time might make this a little... different. Thanks for the review!**

 **roses burning: Six to twelve days is extremely specific XD. We must remember, though, that the 74th lasted 18 days, and we were in the final 13 by the end of the Bloodbath. Thanks for the review!**

 **This is supposed to be a recap. How the heck did it get so long?!**

* * *

 _District One_

 _Malaya Garnet, 17_

 _Marcus Caelum, 17_

* * *

Back in the home of Malaya Garnet and Marcus Caelum, they are torn. Their District has been made a mockery of in previous years, their tributes always the first in the Pack to go down. Marcus and Malaya need each other this year, they know, in order to stay alive.

Nobody knows whether Malaya shot her Partner on purpose, or if she meant to shoot the Six boy. The way she's acted toward him today, however, convinces them that she meant to get away with Six.

On the Family Thrones, set up in the square, the families of the tributes stand silent, waiting. Beryl and Cietrin, the girl's mother and father, refuse to meet the accusing eyes of the gathered crowd. Marcus' mother is glaring daggers at them, while little Alina cries into her mother's dress.

* * *

 _District Two_

 _Cassia Lyra Maurise, 17_

 _Mason Lepodolite, 17_

* * *

In Two, they are celebrating. Both their tributes are some of the strongest this year, and already they are celebrating their Victory. The first day having ended, their tributes making half the total kills between the two of them, District Two will surely have another Victor this year, solidifying their spot as the undisputed Victors of the Hunger Games.

They laugh as replays of Tulle's futile flight plays again. Her attempts to dodge and weave, avoiding Mason's large hands. They cheer as Cassia's knives rip through the throats of the boys from Eleven and Thirteen, the children reenacting the scene to the amusement of their parents.

The families sit smugly on their thrones of stone. Cassia's parents are cheering alongside their people, joyous as gifts surround their feet. Andrea, however, is refusing to acknowledge what her younger sister has done. Mason's parents are celebrating as well, excited to have another Victor child.

* * *

 _District Three_

 _Infiniti Reagan, 17_

 _Cordin Bolt, 16_

* * *

District Three is surprised. In the Games, they're targeted early, more often than not. To have both tributes survive to the end of the first day is almost unheard of. They want to celebrate, they really do, but both their tributes are alone, with no combat knowledge between the two of them. The odds never lie, and it seems as though the odds aren't good for Infiniti Reagan and Cordin Bolt.

They thought for sure Infiniti was a goner, what with both Mason and Jasper on either side of her. Confusion flowed through the District as both tributes ignored her, though the fates of the girls from Eight and Twelve didn't make them feel better. They worry about Cordin, sitting just inside the treeline and glancing constantly up at the Cornucopia. Those he has stolen from know what he's thinking, and those whom he hasn't robbed suspect it anyway.

On the Family Thrones, Angeliece and Mason Reagan are sorry for their daughter. The screens showed how Infiniti cried as the girl from Seven's face showed in the sky, but they know it's best she get over it now. Her little brother, Riker, is staring up at the screens, tears filling his eyes. Cordin's family, besides Gadge, of course, are relieved at how well their son or brother is faring. Little Tabby is as amazed as ever by her older brother.

* * *

 _District Four_

 _Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn, 18_

 _Jasper Blue, 16_

* * *

District Four is unsurprised at their tributes surviving Day One, yet they can't help but worry about Mera and Blue's ability to stay alive. While Fours are usually just fine in a normal Career Alliance, this year is anything but normal. While they usually have the backing of the Ones against the Twos, the girl has vanished and the boy is injured. They know that Mera likely has no chance against Mason and Cassia in a fair fight.

They stare up at Blue and Henry, still unsure of how he got there. Tycho was their chosen Volunteer, he was ready. This fishmonger, this _child_ on the other hand, has aligned himself with a _younger_ boy from _Eight_ of all places. While they're well supplied, it's only a matter of time before Four faces Four, and the victorious tribute will be both loved and hated by their own District.

On the Thrones, Mera's mother and sister, Yula and Rosalyn, are trying to stay happy for their daughter and sister, for the sake of the cameras. Her father, Jokah, on the other hand, hoots and hollers whenever Mera's kills appear on the screen again. On Blue's Throne, however, sit a man and woman who hold each other like they hadn't had the chance in years. Though their son is in the Arena, Corey Blue and Nina Fontaine have been reunited, there to strengthen the other.

* * *

 _District Five_

 _Devon Cynthia Rose, 17_

 _Darius Line, 17_

* * *

District Five can't believe their luck this year. Both their tributes escaped the Bloodbath with supplies of some sort, and even though Darius had to cheat a little in order to do it, they're celebrating. Devon got away from the carnage with a few throwing knives, and can actually wield them with something resembling skill. She even injured the Two girl thirty seconds in, narrowly escaping the girl's cast at her back.

In the Arena, Darius is still stressing over taking another life. His supplies are decent, but he's still shedding tears as he carves himself a bow staff out of a fallen tree limb. He had dropped his club after the Nine girl's death, after all. Devon hasn't pulled out her weapons yet, except to take Cassia's fallen blade and stick it in her own vest. She's found herself a fruit-laden tree, where Five suspects she'll try and stay for a few days.

There was no family willing to take the Throne for Devon, and for the sake of television, the Capitol decided friends of the tribute would be allowed to take the spot of her family so long as Ori would be in attendance. Thus, Thalia and Fiona are representing the tribute girl for now, the young child sitting on Fiona's lap. A woman stands alone on Darius', her face stained with tear streaks. Despite his best efforts, Terra still loves Darius with all her heart, and is terrified for her child.

* * *

 _District Six_

 _Jetta Carter, 17_

 _Aran Quade, 17_

* * *

District Six still can't seem to understand that both their tributes are alive. They knew Jetta would be alright when she bolted, but they thought for sure that Aran was a goner when he had both the Ones bearing down on him. Their surprise at Marcus being shot and Malaya leading Aran into the jungle has been broadcasted over the country, and now Capitolites are posting little jokes on their Eyescroll pages, writing words about their ridiculousness.

Malaya and Aran are slowly beginning to get comfortable with the idea that they're stuck together for the duration of the Games, beginning to talk about their homes and what they'd do if they won to keep their minds off the Games. Jetta is wandering through the jungle, probably unsure of what to do. She'd better stop soon, or one wrong step could land her a broken neck.

On Aran's Throne sits a single girl, the girl Aran would give his life to save. Reyna Quade, now more than likely orphaned, has been desperate to leave the crowded square, to find someone that can tell her brother that the girl with him is a witch, but she can't. Jetta's parents, Laney and Byke, are trying to decide what to Sponsor their daughter with. They have the money, but what can they send that can help?

* * *

 _District Seven_

 _Kenzi Williams, 16_

 _Logan Woodson, 16_

* * *

District Seven isn't very optimistic. Kenzi has already fallen, and while Logan has decent supplies, and perhaps the knowledge to sustain himself, he has no weapon. Another year where they have a tribute who's decently built, strong, able to survive, and can handle a weapon, yet he has no means of defending from an attack. His slight advantages over the others are nothing if the Careers catch up.

In the Arena, Logan has taken a tarp from his bag and strung it up among the branches of a tree, using vines to tie it all together. He had a good view of the recap from his hammock, and didn't seem too surprised when Kenzi's face appeared first. He's sleeping now, his backpack his pillow, his map of the Arena held close to his chest. He's safe for now, but who can really tell with the Gamemakers?

As can be expected, the man and woman on Kenzi's Throne are still in full mourning, Linda and James having just lost their only daughter. Their greatest joy in life. Their greatest pride. Never coming home. On Logan's Throne, the people are worried. The boy's parents, William and Lena, are fully aware of how quickly tributes can become "static," and Jake can't help but wonder whether or not his brother really can make it. Only time will tell.

* * *

 _District Eight_

 _Tulle Salane, 15_

 _Henry Reynoso, 14_

* * *

In the Textile District, they are holding on to hope. Again. Their tributes seldom survive the Bloodbath, and while sweet Tulle has already fallen, they somehow feel that Henry has what they need. A strong ally. A working knowledge of the Arena. Decent odds. Fair Capitol support. He's going to make it really far this year, they know. Maybe even take the crown. After 111 dead in 56 years, maybe this is it. Their liberation.

While the District was disheartened at their older tribute's demise, they knew her death was likely, just as it is every year. There are few alive who remember a Victor from the District, most of them being the Victors themselves. On the screens in the District, Henry and Blue can be seen joking around, almost happy. The Capitol must be loving this.

On the Thrones, the families of this year's tributes can't seem to meet the eyes of the others. The Salanes, Plaid, Velvet, little Rayon, and even old man Hemp are all sobbing quietly in grief, knowing that their daughter, sister, or granddaughter will never return home. The Reynoso women on the other hand, are looking up at the screens in terror, wondering what's happening out of sight. Old Sonia is holding Henry's older sisters, Jessica and Paula, comforting them quietly, though her voice is shaking.

* * *

 _District Nine_

 _Harvest Miller, 14_

 _Thanatos Rize, 15_

* * *

In the District of Grain, most are mourning. While they never expected their tributes to make it too far this year, they had held on to the hope that they'd both at least survive the Bloodbath. Harvest was too young, too unprepared, too soft from her few years in the Victor's Village. Thanatos, however, is a walking corpse to them, cannon fodder. He's done nothing to prove he has what it takes to survive, so he won't survive.

Thanatos is on screen, located just in the treeline at the base of the volcano. He's staring up at the Cornucopia, his eyes calculating, thinking. He ran from the Bloodbath without looking back, and while he may still be alive, he is without supplies. The District knows what he's thinking, and the few who believe in his survival are begging him not to do it. Deep down, however, they know he'll do it. He has no choice.

On the Thrones, Maria Miller has a look of near-insanity in her eyes. There's sympathy for her, of course, as many in the crowd surrounding her know what it's like to lose a child to the Games. With nobody to sit with her, however, she looks small, frail. On Thanatos' Throne, Aiofe, his twin sister, also sits alone, though for different reasons. Her parents refused to attend, refused to acknowledge Than as their child. So Aiofe too is alone in a sea of people.

* * *

 _District Ten_

 _Cheyenne Bruno, 13_

 _Denny Rico, 14_

* * *

District Ten is proud of their tributes. This year, Ten is the outermost District to still have both tributes alive, an achievement worth celebrating. On top of this, their tributes are working together to survive, they are supplied, and should have sponsors. With only eighteen left in the Game, the odds are looking pretty good for the pair. The only thing that could raise their odds even higher would be them being older.

Cheyenne and Denny are comforting each other over what the District assumes to be a fallen ally, as Cheyenne broke down as the Twelve girl's face appeared in the night sky. They must understand that, in the end, she was going to die anyway. While the idea of flying down a mountainside is altogether terrifying, her death honestly could have been worse. Besides, Ten is still alive.

Representing Cheyenne on her Throne sit Vivian and Charles Bruno, her parents, Charlotte, her older sister, and even the family's black lab, Lassie. The Brunos were terrified as they watched Cheyenne run for the pack, but were quickly relieved when she made it out unscathed. Alone on Denny's Throne is his mother, Sammy. Sammy had been hoping against hope that her son would stay away from the Bloodbath, and he did, to her relief.

* * *

 _District Eleven_

 _Willow Orchids, 13_

 _Thorn Ashburry, 13_

* * *

District Eleven honestly wishes that Willow had been the tribute to go. While she's sweet and kind and extremely likeable, Thorn was the stronger of the two. The most likely to win. The one they thought could be a potential Victor.

Willow hasn't even stopped crying over the dead boy. She has very good supplies, stolen from the Twelve girl, who is also dead. She's curled up in a ball, her bag held tightly. Her water bottles are filled again, purifying. She has good supplies, but she's too emotionally unstable to use them properly.

On Thorn's Throne, Jacob, his father, is trying his best to comfort Jessica, the boy's sister. They knew this was a likely outcome, but they didn't think they'd have to face such devastation so soon. On Willow's, Mint is, understandably, on the verge of freaking out for her younger sister, and the tribute's twin brother Asher is in a frighteningly similar state.

* * *

 _District Twelve_

 _Keola Foeba, 13_

 _Soot Maloy, 13_

* * *

District Twelve fully expected this outcome from their tributes. In truth, this is what happens nearly every year, two young innocents slaughtered minutes into the Games. They can't shake off the horridness of Soot's death, however, though they suspect that this is only the beginning of the Four girl's legacy. The people have seen Careers like her, half insane and a force of destruction, terrifying and unstoppable.

They hadn't known Soot had joined the Career Alliance until it was truly too late to say anything about it. His death was truly his fault, for listening to lies and being so trusting, not that I makes it any better. Keola might be okay if it wasn't for that darned Eleven girl. Keola was more vulnerable than ever with her leg broken, something they all knew the Two boy would take advantage of.

On Soot's Throne, his sisters, Sarai and Maddie, are trying to keep the images away from little Tomas, who just wants to see his older brother. Garrett has already left, having other family he has to worry about. Keola's Throne, a single woman kneels, sobbing into her dress as though the whole world had been ripped from beneath her, and to her it has. Her daughter was her everything, and now she is gone.

* * *

 _District Thirteen_

 _Rebelle Sunflower Rine, 13_

 _Sparky Montgomery, 12_

* * *

Thirteen honestly isn't shocked at the aftermath of the first day. What could they have expected, really? Every year, their children are taken for their crimes, and they've lost 123 in the past 51 years. Half that number were taken down in countless Bloodbaths, and the Gamemakers took care of the rest. They're still unsure of how Soldier managed to survive twenty-five years ago.

They all knew Sparky wouldn't make it. He was batcrap crazy, much of the District knew him and his mother for that reason alone. Children like him never leave the Arena, and the entire nation, they suspect, knew he would fall here. Early. Rebelle, on the other hand, had a sort of fire in her. However, that fire may have been what got her killed. She provoked Four, though she could have gotten away clean. Perhaps if she had waited another five years, she might have won.

There is no family on Sparky's Throne, though if his mother hadn't passed away on Interview Night she probably wouldn't be here anyway. Rebelle's, however, is filled with grief-stricken family. They had cared for the girl like a daughter and sister. Draco and Freedom wonder what might have been had they kept the young girl away from the Games, and little Centra hasn't a clue what happened to her sister.

* * *

 _Capitol_

* * *

The Capitol is, as you may expect, partying. They feel no sadness over the fallen tributes, only sheer elation or disappointment that their bets did or didn't pay off. Their excitement over the remaining tributes withstands, of course, and they almost hope the Games will be a little longer this year. With eighteen left in the field, at least two more weeks is almost a certainty.

In his mansion, President Gumei Snow is pleased. His Careers this year took care of the issues of the girls from Nine and Thirteen, as well as the angry boy from Eleven. The only ones remaining that need to be taken care of have more enemies in the Arena than friends, and Snow is certain he'll have a _good_ Victor. A patriot, someone he can control. Yes, a Career.

In the Control Center, Head Gamemaker Mars Viking is relieved. Bloodbath ratings were quite good, and the fall of some certain tributes should make the President happy. He'll be coming back once again next year, he knows, especially once the Capitol sees what he has in store for the tributes. His job is secure, all he has to do is sit and enjoy the show.

* * *

 _Control Center_

* * *

Jade Heghes is pinching her nose in frustration. She's glaring at her charge's vitals, even though they are steady and strong. She realizes now why Malaya had stormed straight to her room the night before; she must have talked with the boy from Six. Jade looks over to the boy's mentor again, and the younger girl raises her eyebrows again, questioning.

Gloss Xerces is more than a little worried. His tribute is injured and, without Malaya there to back him up, the Careers will likely find they're better off without him. A few of Marcus' Sponsors have called, those who would like the pleasure of the One boy's company should he win. There were little others, calling about his spectacular kill. Gloss sighs. He had hoped to do better on the 75th anniversary of his own Victory.

Moara Slater takes another swig of her beer as she groans. It's her own Games all over again; the knives, the death, the sadistic smile. She can see herself in Cassia. She's gotten multiple calls, Cass's two kills catching the attention of the Capitol dogs. She'll help Cassia, sure. She's obligated to. But once she dies, Moara will go hole herself up in a club and refuse to leave until Rocky comes to get her.

Jacob Gold is happy with his tribute. He laughs as Mason messes around with his crossbow, shooting a spare sleeping bag. The girls just snort at his joy, the boy from One sitting as still as possible. It reminds him of his own Games, how he spent it all laughing. He laughed as his sword cut through tributes in the Bloodbath. He laughed as the girl from One screamed in terror, right before her head popped off. It's good to laugh.

Ingrid Talbot sighs as the money shared between Infiniti and Kenzi drops. Most of that was there was from Kenzi and Oak, but with the girl from Seven dead, Sponsors have withdrawn their money, likely to pay back on their bids they had made. She looks around the room, aware of just how lucky she is. Already, seven mentors have left the Control Center, and yet she is still here. Infiniti's heart beats on. But just how much longer can she survive?

Matrix Volt wonders how Cordin can survive now. The boy's plan was to steal from the Careers at night, but now that will prove impossible, as they can see him coming, night or day. Cordin doesn't know about the night vision goggles, but, granted, neither do the Careers. Matrix suspects, however, that the girl from Four actually _does_ know, but is trying to decide on whether to tell her allies or not.

Halibut Odair is proud of Mera, for taking the boy from Twelve out as planned and keeping a level head when Malaya deserted. Her Sponsor funds soared after the spectacular show that lasted ten minutes, and they racked up with each intricate cut left on the boy's body. Now, with two kills under her belt, Halibut knows she will have the crown within a week in an Arena as small as this.

Kinzie Wrasse has just about given up on Blue. There's a reason none of her tributes have ever come back, and Blue embodies all of them. He hasn't trained his whole life. He isn't eighteen. His build isn't right. He didn't ally with the Careers. Now, Kinzie has to watch her charge traipse through the jungle with an _outlier_ , before a _real_ tribute can kill them off.

Fosca Beralia's heart skipped a dozen beats as Devon faced off with the girl from Two. Now she's breathing easy, as Devon bites into some tree fruit she found. She's thiry-five feet above the jungle floor, high in a tree about four kilometers away from the volcano. Fosca is proud of her girl, who cut down some vines to make herself a rope. Tonight, she can sleep in the safety of the trees.

Matt Electrode is debating on what to try and send his tribute. Darius is lost in grief after the girl from Nine's death, and Matt just hopes he can get his head back in the Game. Losing someone is hard, every Victor knows that, but no tribute should be giving up this early. The Nine girl was going to die anyway, and besides, Darius' funds have grown because of it.

Railer Playne can't help but wonder what will end up happening to Jetta. The girl can't win, not really, and her lack of, well… _Everything_ is proof enough of that. His tributes have surprised him from time to time, however, so he hasn't fully given up on the girl, not really. But with no funds, no allies, no _true_ skill, the odds don't seem to be in her favor.

The daggers being glared at Kiara Enygma amuse her. While she isn't the oldest in the room, physically or mentally, she certainly isn't scared by the Career mentor from One. Kiara knows that Jade's pride won't allow her to visit Floor Six to discuss the situation, though she doesn't mind. A Six hasn't had this much Sponsor money in decades, and she can't keep down that glimmer of hope inside her.

Oak Teare can't think straight, the stench of his room and the empty bottles littering the floor offering more than enough explanation. He just can't understand. People loved his girl. _Loved_ her. Despite her distaste for Julius and Lumeo, people were drawn to her celebrity and her cleverness and her beauty. Now, her beauty is floating over the Arena, the medics trying to fix her before shoving her in a freezer.

Lily Jeng can't believe her tribute got two wonderful things in his bag, and managed to _waste_ one of them. While he certainly doesn't know, that poison vial could have been used to kill _everyone_ in that Arena. Caution is what keeps a tribute alive, and he might have thrown away his chance at that. However, she supposes, only time will tell.

Cecelia Furse is sobbing into her pillows, as she does every time her tribute falls. She had held on to the hope that Tulle would stay under the radar, survive to at least the Top Eight, but instead she died so soon. So young. She can only hope that Henry can break the losing streak now, the curse that has hung over Eight since Yvonne.

Velvet Furse honestly thinks that this is his year. He knows he has a knack for bringing home Victors, and while Henry is a bit young, Yvonne was fourteen when she won. Velvet sees this as a good omen, and can't help but plead silently with the Gamemakers that this will be the year. Henry has an ally from Four. That's all he needs.

Nobody knows where Wheat Miller went, not that he cares. He doesn't really care for anything at this point, not with the powder in his palm and the apartment to himself. The faces are gone, the screams have dissipated, and that's all that matters. The world is calm now, peaceful. He's going to ride this feeling until the end of it all.

Harvest Summer knows that, despite Thanatos' personality and overall outlook, he _really_ has the potential of a Victor. If she knew what his plan was, then she might be able to help him out a little bit more. However, he refused to tell her, so what can she do really? She'll just have to gauge his actions and make smart decisions.

The hope rising in Tabitha Shearer cannot be stopped. What was once a spark is now an open flame. Cheyenne has an ally, supplies, support, Sponsors. With every passing day that Cheyenne can avoid the Careers, Tabitha knows her odds will grow exponentially. She's finally going to bring one home. This year. This time.

Austin Bean has been mentoring for many years, so he knows Victor-material tributes when he sees them. Something he won't admit to Tabitha is that Ten hasn't a chance this year. None. Both of them are too young and Cheyenne's popularity hasn't escaped the Careers' notice, nor the Gamemakers' for that matter. And Denny is too gentle. No Victors for Ten this year. That's just the facts.

Crysta Rine has finally finished her wailing, though her grief for her daughter only strengthens her decision to save Willow at any and all costs. She still has a tribute in the field, and while her daughter has fallen, perhaps another girl can be saved. Willow is alone and scared, she knows, but she is strong, with good supplies if she can figure out what her canister is. A fire bomb is an advantage tributes never see most years.

Orchus Fielding can't believe his charge is already gone, two minutes into the first day. Thorn really had a good chance, he knew, but the idiot child refused to listen and ran headfirst into the Bloodbath. _At least Willow's still in the Game_ , he thinks, _though she is alone and scared and -_ yes, things aren't looking too good for the team from Eleven.

Coal Black doesn't want to imagine the terror his tribute felt as she free-fell through the air two minutes into the Games. No, the bottle in his hand is definitely preferable to watching the highlights, preferable to being interviewed on his thoughts. It drowns out her horrible screams, the world-ending crack that doomed her. Yes, liquor is wonderful.

Slatia Mist knew Soot should never have joined the Careers. While she's seen many things during her years of mentoring, and even before that, Soot's death was particularly cruel. Halibut and Gloss and Jacob are just laughing it off, and it makes her mad. Halibut offered to buy her dinner during Soot's torture, but he had that malicious grin and she turned him down. It's the best she can do now for her tribute.

Soldier Renslaw knows that he was expected to better in a Quell. He had no way, however, of saving those kids and he knows that, but others don't. Crysta will never understand. Thirteen will never understand. Sparky and Rebelle are dead because of their own actions, their own stupidity. Both could have survived the first day but they made the wrong decision, and it cost them their lives.

* * *

 **I may have trouble with Day 2. My computer uninstalled Microsoft Office and it's a miracle I finished this chapter before it did. Fanfiction can still open Word documents even when the computer can't read them, so here we are.**

 **26** **th** **: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25** **th** **: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24** **th** **: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23** **rd** **: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22** **nd** **: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21** **st** **: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20** **th** **: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19** **th** **: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **Sponsors!**

 **dreams and desperation: 215 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 87 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **caitiebug007: 93 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **roses burning: 112 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **The First Adventuress: 190 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 103 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 137 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male**_ **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 70 (** _ **Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male**_ **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 177 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers (215 points): Marcus (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (215,** _ **dreams and desperation**_ **), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Malaran (Araya?) (190 points): Malaya (1), Aran (6) (190,** _ **The First Adventuress**_ **)**

 **Brains and Brawn (137 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (137,** _ **Clis2339**_ **).**

 **Sacrificial Lambs (177 points): Denny (10), and Cheyenne (10) (177,** _ **Mystical Pine Forest**_ **).**

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3) (80) (80,** _ **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans**_ **)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (205) (93,** _ **catiebug007**_ **) (112,** _ **roses burning**_ **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7) (103) (103,** _ **JaymanRepublic**_ **)**

 **Thanatos (9) (70) (70,** _ **Wolfie McCoy**_ **)**

 **Willow (11)**

 **Questions!**

 **What do you think?**

 **Should I do this every day?**

 **If not, how often?**

 **Should I keep** _ **every**_ **District and mentor? Or should I skip Twelve, Thirteen, and the mentors of the deceased in Day 2?**

 **Which section and/or mentor was your favorite read?**


	30. A Dangerous Place- Day Two

**I got my computer fixed, and am here with Day 2! Yess! Three chapters in one week, that must be a record or something for me!**

 **Reviews!**

 **Clis2339: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! It was surprisingly difficult to write, being that I was keeping track of more characters than are even the Arena, but it was fun nonetheless. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Wolfie McCoy: Well, while Than might have a rather "low" number of points, I know that Sponsors don't mean everything. I'm excited to write for him again, as I'm sure you're excited to hear from him again. Thanks for the review!**

 **dreams and desperation: Unique. That's what I was shooting for, thanks! To be honest, I got the idea from LadyCordeliaStuart, who does something similar. Thanks for the review!**

 **The First Adventuress: Always happy to know you're alive, and don't worry so much about reviewing. We all have insanely busy lives, and I know you wouldn't give up on Forest of Death. I can't be mad or anything if you don't update for a while. As I've said before, I've taken several** _ **months**_ **between updates. You're fine, really. And hey, I'm a Junior next year!**

 **roses burning: I'm glad you liked it so much, I really do enjoy writing this story, and it warms my heart to know that you enjoy reading. I'm still trying to decide how often I'll do it, but I'm honestly swinging toward every Games day. Thanks for the review!**

 **I want to take a moment to thank everyone who's reading. It's you guys who keep me going, if only so I can hear your kind words every chapter XD. My heart leaps every time my phone informs me that I have an email from Fanfiction, and I'd love to claim you peeps as friends** **. I'm totally not tearing up right now…**

 **Also, if you want to know how the next few chapters are coming along, I keep track on my profile**

* * *

Cordin Bolt, Age 16, District 3

District Three Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The Careers are moving their supplies, away from the Cornucopia and into the jungle. I suspect they think it's too hot up there, but I'm not sure it's much better here. I've been spying on them all morning, as though I have had much choice. They moved themselves into a clearing by _my_ tree, the one I found after the Bloodbath. I can't leave, or I'll surely die.

I'm not sure they'll see me though, this high in the tree. They've made a little camp, using the blankets and sleeping bags and rope to create tents strung about the clearing. I can see their worry, however, about their lack of supplies.

In normal years, the Careers end up supplied with crates of bread and apples and beans and stew and medicines of all sorts, but all they've brought back from the volcano besides their tent materials is weapons. More weapons than they'll ever use. Knives, spears, swords, as well as a trident, a bow, even a crossbow. A few packs, ones I suspect the other outliers didn't get away with.

My original plan was to rob them in the night for my supplies. That seemingly impossible task might be doable with my years of experience, but the volcano forced me to wait, because I could never get back up there and down again. Not alive, anyway.

Now, however, I can actually do it. I can snatch a pack or two, a weapon or two, should they foolishly put the One boy on guard sometime tonight.

And that's another thing. The One boy has a vine wrapped around his body, a leaf pressed to what I can only guess is a wound from the blood snaking its way down his bare back. He and the Two boy have removed their ponchos and undershirts, hoping to fend off the heat. The sluggish movement from One, though, makes me suspect there's something more than heat factoring here.

I don't know a lot about dressing wounds, but I'm pretty sure it's bad to use a jungle leaf.

"Well, here's the last of it!" The Two boy calls as he enters the clearing with his Partner, and the Four girl looks up. One doesn't move. "Now can we do something about him?" He asks, exasperatedly gesturing toward One. The girl from Four says something, then moves to the packs, piled near one of the makeshift tents.

She rips open one of the two green packs, yanking out some tree climbing gear, an axe, and a massive pair of goggles. I almost gasp when I recognize them. Night vision, something that doesn't belong in the Arena. The girl just moves on to another bag however, unhappy with her findings.

I make a note to watch what happens to those goggles. When I make my run, I will have to take those with me.

* * *

Cassia Maurise, Age 18, District 2

District Two Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"So…" I say, trying to keep the excitement from my voice, "I think it's about time to go hunting. Who's going with me?" I look around our camp, to where Mera is looking for a better sword. Mason glances up at me from where he's sitting, and Marcus doesn't flinch from his tent.

"Whoa whoa whoa, missy, you can't say _you're_ the one going just yet." Mera growls, standing up. "We need to figure out who's going to go and who's going to guard the supplies." I roll my eyes at this.

"Right. Well, Marcus is in no condition to go _anywhere_ , so he can stay here." I glare back to Mera, who folds her arms.

"And what if someone comes with the intent of _stealing_ , Cassia? He can't stop them now, can he? No, someone must stay back and guard." She looks over at the boy from One. "Marcus? Think of a number between one and thirteen, honey. The two closest to your number will go hunting, the one furthest will stay here." She grins at me, and I snarl.

"Okay." He groans.

"Six." Mera declares, staring me in the eye.

"Ten." Mason pipes up.

"Two." I say, figuring my District can't steer me wrong.

"I chose eight. Sorry Cass." Marcus' voice catches slightly as he says my name, though it's almost a whisper.

"That settles it!" Mera grins sweetly, and oh I want to stab her in the throat right now. "Grab your stuff, Mason, we have tributes to kill." She brushes past me, into the trees, and Mason is left scurrying to pick up his own sword.

"Sorry Cass." He mumbles as he passes me. I bare my teeth like a jaguar, and he has the audacity to look ashamed. He disappears into the jungle, leaving me alone with the liability.

I remove my vest in anger, throwing it to the ground. The sound of metal striking metal can be heard as the knives settle. I stomp over to the fire pit, and set to work building up a flame. Maybe I can catch something while the others are gone. We don't have anything that we can cook in our packs really, and I'm itching to kill something.

I strike a match, pressing it against the kindling below the wood. Slowly, a light appears, then more quickly, an inferno. I step back quickly, already drenched in sweat. This darned Arena.

"Cassia?" I can hear Marcus moaning from his tent, and I almost ignore him. Then I imagine Mason finding out I let him die, and then the Careers disbanding early. While I want them all dead, I have no desire to brave the Arena by myself. Yet.

"What is it?" I ask, allowing the annoyance to lace my voice. I stride to his tent, where I see him trying to sit up. His face is carved in a grimace, and I smirk at his weakness. He doesn't belong here. The wound in his back and his inability to fight through it are proof of that.

I look down at my right hand. My throwing hand. The Five girl's knife cut across my palm, a wound that should be healed in a matter of days. _My_ bandage was caused by my own strength, my courage.

"I'm… Sorry." He says, finally looking me in the face. "But, um… Could you get me some water please? My lips are really dry, and I think that that might help…" He looks away, unwilling to say more. Again, I want to ignore him, but I have no choice.

I turn, remembering that the remaining bottle of water was left in one of the green bags, alongside an axe, some matches, and a pair of those weird goggles. Mera says she thinks she knows what they are, but she won't tell us until later. I look up to where the bags were left, and gasp.

Standing there, as though handed to me on a silver platter, is the boy from Three. Slinging a green pack over his shoulder.

"Hey!" I speak in anger, without thought. The boy turns eyes wide, before he smirks and sprints into the jungle. I run back to where I left my knives, a quarter of the way around the clearing, and I throw the vest on. I run at full speed to where the boy disappeared, breaking the treeline and searching frantically. I can't hear him, so he must have stopped. He can't be far.

* * *

Devon Rose, Age 17, District 5

District Five Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I decided this morning that I should get moving, before I stagnate. While the area I set up in yesterday has plenty of food, I know that I'll quickly get boring if I scavenge all day for two weeks. Besides, there's an edge to the Arena somewhere, and I'd rather _not_ be somewhere I can be surrounded.

I think I'm walking south, but in this thick foliage, who can tell, really? The shadows between trees seem to twist and lunge, and I wonder if I'll even be sane once I get out of here. If I even get out of here. I shudder. Past Quell Victors all seem to be insane to some degree, but then again, aren't all Victors? The Gamemakers always seem to make Quells more horrid and torturous than regular years.

Susan James, who killed random people in her District that she thought were opponents for five years after she won. Haymitch Abernathy, the boy who won a century ago and was punished for using the Arena's forcefield. Gloss Xerces, who witnessed the brutal death of his sister, and survived _two_ Games. Amber Zaman, who, many suspect, resorted to cannibalism during her Games. Soldier Renslaw, the lone Victor with no chance of ever bringing one home.

Of all the years to enter the Arena, why did it have to be a Quell?

I pause as I hear the sound of running water. Pushing past a few more trees, I find myself on the bank of a wide river. It's not moving very fast, but I have no desire to swim through it; it looks deep, and who knows what's lurking at the bottom. Besides, it would take hours to dry my clothes again.

I decide, finally, to follow the river, searching for a narrow spot or some trees that would allow me to climb across. After perhaps an hour of walking, I come across a rather shallow area, with three rather large black boulders where the water becomes deeper. Happy with my lucky break, I hop across, though my now wet boot slips slightly on the second landing. I take stock of my knives again before continuing, and I'm relieved to see I still have six.

It must be another hour before I see a clear light through the trees, and I pick up my pace. I can smell the sea air, hear the waves crashing onto the beach, and I realize we're on an island. The Gamemakers do this often, I know, to keep the tributes from finding the true barrier. I reach the treeline, but I freeze as the dull ring of a cannon fills the air.

Briefly, I wonder who else died before I step out onto the sand.

* * *

Denny Rico, Age 14, District 10

District Ten Male, 6th Quarter Quell

* * *

Cheyenne and I woke up early this morning so as to hopefully start walking before the Careers got up. We haven't seen hide nor hair of other tributes yet, though I suppose that's to be expected. It _is_ only day two.

And we've already lost an ally.

I can't say I knew Keola that well, and we didn't really talk a lot during training. She was, however, part of our small group, our best chance of survival. She was a person, not just another face from another District. Seeing her face in the sky last night hit hard, just as the other seven did. It's hard to believe that I'm here when they are not.

It's not hard to believe how hot it is here, though. I'm sweating through my shirt, and it's around four in the afternoon, if I'm correct. The extreme shade surrounding us is no help, and I wonder if all jungles are this warm, or if it's only a trick by the Gamemakers. To make us miserable, as though 25 of us _dying_ isn't misery enough.

I look up again, to where Cheyenne is pulling ahead. It amazes me how at-home she seems to be here, despite a certain lack of forests back in Ten. She moves quickly and with ease, her agility pushing her over fallen trees and mud puddles. I, on the other hand, am not so fast, less made for moving through such a dense forest.

I'm breathing heavy, the pack I volunteered to carry weighing me down. Come to think of it, that might be why I'm pushing forward like a bull in the desert, unable to gain my footing properly. "Can we stop?" I ask at last. It feels weird asking a younger girl for a break, but I'm sure that if it was up to her, we'd keep walking until we reached the end of the Arena.

She turns, taking in my appearance before finally sitting down. She hasn't spoken since last night, and while I can't blame her, I wonder if she's mad at me. I ran away, putting _our_ lives in jeopardy just from lack of supplies. I remove the bag, the bag _she_ risked her life for yesterday. There's no food left in it, and we've yet to find a water source to fill our bottles, but I'm happy to not have the weight on my shoulders. She takes it, slinging it over her shoulder before leaning back again.

"How you doing?" I ask for what feels like the hundredth time. She glances at me hesitantly.

"I'm done. I just want to go home." She says, looking away again. She breathes deeply, letting it out loudly. I nod in understanding.

"Perhaps you can, Chey." I reach my hand to touch her shoulder, but I stop, instead letting it drop to my lap. She doesn't move, as though she didn't notice. "We're still together. Half the tributes can't say they have an ally, so we're already up on them."

She glares at me. "Let's see." She says, holding out her hand. She starts to tick her fingers off as she names tributes. "As far as we know, the Threes are separated, as are the Fives and Sixes. The boys from Seven and Nine are probably, as is Willow from Eleven. That leaves five Careers and the boys from Four and Eight. The arguably strongest tributes all have allies, Denny. Where does that leave us?"

"In a better spot than some may expect." I reply, smiling slightly. "People like you, so we must have Sponsors, and-" I freeze as I feel something pressing against my back, and I see Cheyenne looking at me, eyes wide. The sensation vanishes, and I quickly jump to my feet, turning to look at the offending creature.

The tiny, playful eyes of a jaguar cub look back at me, her head cocked as she sits casually.

I look around for Cheyenne, but she's nowhere to be seen. I kneel down in front of the cub, who I can guess is lost. I reach out, wondering what I'm going to do with it, when a deafening howl cuts through the air.

I jump back again, and the cub disappears into the trees. I look around frantically, deciding which way Cheyenne went. I think I see her fleeing form in the distance, but before I can follow her, another roar, louder than the last one, comes in the direction of the cub. I turn back, and a small cry escapes my lips.

In front of me, stalking her way down the tree I had just been sitting under, is a full-grown mother jaguar. Her teeth are bared, like dozens of daggers eager for blood. Her muscles stretch and flex under her hide, a sight so mesmerizing and utterly terrifying. Her eyes are an icy blue, staring into my soul.

I give a small yelp, before turning and running as hard and as fast as I can. My only hope is that the cat will leave me alone once I'm away from her kitten. Everything blurs as I run, and I don't dare look back for fear of looking back into the eyes of my killer.

I scream as pain flares down my back, a feeling of being ripped apart beginning in my right shoulder. I collapse as the jungle cat flips over me, and I start to scramble away as her jaw releases. The reprieve is brief, however, as another howl cuts straight to my heart, which I swear is no longer beating. I look up as the feline pounces again, her teeth clamping around my throat.

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't…

* * *

Jetta Carter, Age 17, District 6

District Six Female, 6th Quarter Quell

* * *

These boots are supposed to help us traverse the rocky terrain, to climb over roots and stomp through puddles. Mine somehow keep slipping in moss and on vines, but I haven't fallen flat on my face. Yet. I know it's only a matter of time before I fall, and a fall here could quickly become lethal.

But that's what they want, isn't it? They'd love to see me trip over my own feet and break my neck, love to see me year after year on _Top Ten Tribute Fails_. They'd love to watch me die, that's why I'm here in the first place.

I wonder for a moment if the cannon earlier today was because of a tribute's own mistake, or if the Gamemakers or another tribute forced their death. While I'll have no way of knowing unless I win, I will at least learn who it is tonight. Likely a loner like myself, defenseless and weak as the Careers bore down on them. I shiver, the image sticking to my brain. I must survive. I have to.

I don't see how likely that is, though. I have no allies, no supplies, no way of getting Capitol citizens to Sponsor me. I know Railer is trying his best, but there's only so much he can do. And what could I have done? While I would have loved to have allies, I know I couldn't bear watching one or more of them die, after bonding for who knows how long. And running into the Bloodbath is suicide, as the eight tributes from yesterday found out.

I had thought that I might find something here that I could turn into a blowgun, some dried out vines or something. My risk was quickly realized, however, when _everything_ here appeared to be lush and green, useless for making such a weapon. While I could easily craft some darts, the gun itself is proving to be a serious issue. While the tube would likely have been brittle, at least I could use it once or twice. Crap isn't looking so good.

I wish the trees weren't so thick here. I might be able to see where I'm walking and stop sliding all over the place.

Suddenly I pause, straining my ears toward a sound unlike anything I've heard in this jungle thus far. The birds have paused, and it seems as though the whole area is holding its breath. I take a tentative step forward before slamming to the ground, my legs falling from underneath me. I collapse to the forest floor, slipping under a plant of some sort before I hear voices.

"I wonder if Cassia had some action back at camp." I freeze in fear as the boy from Two speaks, heard but unseen. I remember the phantom stories my parents used to tell me to scare me when I was little, and I imagine this is what it was like to be a victim.

There's a laugh. "Action? I doubt it. Maybe to change One's diapers. Or maybe she's still pouting about staying behind." I recognize the Four girl.

"What is your problem?" I hear Two demand. "What do you have against my District Partner? Or Marcus?"

"I'm sorry, am I hurting your feewings?" She asks in a babyish tone, "Because if you'd like, you and One can snuggle up together while the ladies go hunting tomorrow. Would you like that?" There's a crashing in the bushes behind me, and I picture the duo wading through them, heading straight for the volcano.

"You've got to be kidding me, Mera. If you had any sense, you'd-" There's a pause, and I realize that the Careers must have been almost right on top of me. A boot appears a few meters away, and, by the color of the poncho far above it, I see that it's the Two boy. "Would you look at these, Mera? They can't be natural, but… I don't know."

My heart begins to race as the plants around me twist around, the Four girl actually stepping _over_ me. She squats down next to the spot where Mason was looking, examining it closely.

"Probably not wildlife." She determines, standing up. "Definitely a tribute. To be honest, though, I have no way of telling which way he or she went."

"Wait, look!" I turn my head away, eyes closed, certain that I have been discovered and a sword is about to pierce my neck. "There are more tracks heading that way!"

"You're right! They must have gone in that direction! Good eye, Mason!" I hear them crashing through the underbrush again, and I slowly open my eyes. Their retreating figures don't convince my heart to leave my throat.

Slowly, disbelieving in my own luck, I stand and run in the opposite direction.

* * *

Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10

District Ten Female, 6th Quarter Quell

* * *

I can't believe I did that. My tongue seemed to swell up, but my legs had no trouble propelling me backward. We both heard the roars, we both knew the danger. I acted, he didn't. Now he's dead.

It's hard to believe that I had been talking to him, right before it happened. He had been comforting me, trying to convince me that despite everything, one of us can make it out alive. I had already started backing away when the kitten showed up, and by the time the mother had shown herself, I was already half gone. The roars and screams behind me only elevated my terror, and the pack I had only just accepted from him seemed to weigh nothing in my flight.

He screamed, oh he screamed, before another howl drowned it out, then everything was silent, before the dull cannon piercing my heart like ice. I dared not look back. I dare not even speak. The beast is still out there, I know, and I'm the only one who knows about it.

Surviving another day is of no comfort to me anymore. Earlier today, I had an ally, a friend, a reminder of home. The day before, I had two allies. Now I'm alone, scared, and one of the two youngest tributes left alive. Two thirds of the competition is above sixteen, and I know the Sponsors will be gravitating towards them. Perhaps Denny was the lucky one, the one who died so honorably. I was the coward. The weak one.

Tears are streaming down my face, and I'm forced to stop my wanderings for the night. It's really late, and I should have stopped earlier, but I wanted to get as far from that place as possible. The death recap should be soon, but I don't need to see it. I know what it will show me.

Or maybe I need to look. One last sendoff to my ally, my Partner, my _friend_.

I'm already halfway up a mangrove as the anthem begins to blare over the Arena, the strained chords faint but overbearing. I look to the sky as the Panem seal fades away, and there he is, alive for the last time. His face, staring down sadly upon the Arena, accompanied by nothing more than _District 10_. That's all he was to them, to the people who sent him here. Who sent _me_ here. He was _alive_ , and now he won't see anything again. He won't know what happens to me, what might have happened if we weren't attacked.

His portrait fades away, and I long for it to reappear, just once more, so that I might properly say goodbye to him. Not to some ghost, someone who's death I might have prevented, but to a friend, someone who gave me hope. I can't do that now, he's truly gone.

As I climb back to the jungle floor, I realize that I want to win. I will win. For me. My family. For Tabitha.

For Denny.

* * *

 **18** **th** **Place: Denny Rico, District 10 Male, Age 14**

 **Slain by the Jaguar**

 **Time in Arena: 1 day 6 hours 37 minutes 14 seconds**

 **Honestly, I came to a point where I had no clue what to do with Denny. He's an interesting tribute, but I felt I wasn't doing him any justice. I really did love this little alliance, and I can't believe it has fallen apart so quickly. I'm sorry Denny, but apparently you didn't have enough to win. Perhaps if you were faster than Cheyenne. Thanks Faceless for Denny!**

 **26** **th** **: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25** **th** **: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24** **th** **: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23** **rd** **: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22** **nd** **: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21** **st** **: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20** **th** **: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19** **th** **: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18** **th** **: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **Sponsors!**

 **dreams and desperation: 226 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 95 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **caitiebug007: 101 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **roses burning: 123 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **The First Adventuress: 198 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 111 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 151 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male**_ **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 81 (** _ **Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male**_ **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 185 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers (226 points): Marcus (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (226,** _ **dreams and desperation**_ **), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Malaran (Araya?) (198 points): Malaya (1), Aran (6) (198,** _ **The First Adventuress**_ **)**

 **Brains and Brawn (151 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (151,** _ **Clis2339**_ **).**

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3) (88) (88,** _ **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans**_ **)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (224) (101,** _ **catiebug007**_ **) (123,** _ **roses burning**_ **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7) (111) (111,** _ **JaymanRepublic**_ **)**

 **Thanatos (9) (81) (81,** _ **Wolfie McCoy**_ **)**

 **Cheyenne (10) (185) (185,** _ **Mystical Pine Forest**_ **)**

 **Willow (11)**

 **Questions!**

 **Favorite POV?**

 **Thoughts on Denny?**

 **What about Jetta's amazing luck?**

 **Cordin's?**

 **Cheyenne's terrible luck?**

 **Thoughts on the future?**

 **Who will die next?**

 **Anything you want to see?**


	31. Emotional Turmoil- Day Two Recap

**So yeah, I'm doing this again. I'm debating whether to do this only on days of death or every day. I think that every day might be good though, so we can see what the tributes we** _ **haven't**_ **seen that day are doing. Besides, these chapters will gradually shorten as tributes die out. Then I can get updates out faster. I'm on a system of writing portions of two chapters a day, and so Day 3 is already halfway done as I finish this, and Day 3's recap will be half done when Day 3 is posted.**

 **Reviews!**

 **roses burning: I'd rather be killed by another tribute, if I'm being honest. I'd hate being killed by the Arena because I'd have had** _ **nothing**_ **I could have done about it. A tribute, I'd know I was bested, that I tried my hardest and I'd have someone I'd be rooting for to see die. Thanks for the review!**

 **dreams and desperation: Psh, tired? People don't get tired! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope you slept well! Thanks for the review!**

 **The First Adventuress: Actually, no, there weren't any first aid kits in the Cornucopia. There were no supplies other than weapons, some sleeping bags, and whatever the heck was in the limited number of backpacks. They have ACE bandages, that's really it. Thanks for the review!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: Looking back on this, I think I might have been a little harsh on Cheyenne… Then again, losing an ally early wouldn't usually keep you safe in the Arena, so I feel it's justified. It's so hard killing these tributes, I just… *sigh* Thanks for the review!**

 **Clis2339: I know, I get that feeling** _ **every time**_ **I read just about anything. I have another chapter here, though, so all's Fantasmic! Thanks for the review!**

 **Wolfie McCoy: Denny was like an animal-whisperer type person, which is why I decided animals would be his downfall. His instant love for the jaguar cub is what got him killed, and I love irony in stories. Thanks for the review!**

 **I just wanted to clear up, the Thrones I speak of are on raised platforms in the open area in front of the Justice Building. The family (or, in rare cases, friends) stands around/sits on the Thrones, which are taken down once that tribute falls. It is also the same Throne that the Victor sits on during his/her ceremony. I'll detail the Thrones a little bit more once we reach the Interviews (Final Ten).**

 **Also, shout out to my best friend ever, it's her birthday today! Happy birthday, Alli, I'd be lost without you!**

* * *

 _District One_

 _Malaya Garnet, 17_

 _Marcus Caelum, 17_

* * *

District One is becoming more and more worried for the health of their male tribute. Today he barely moved; he was no help when the Three boy stole some of the supplies. Malaya is also beginning to warm up a little to the Six boy, something none of them really want to learn more about. The Capitol seems to think it's adorable, however, so it's always on.

Malaya and Six are talking a little about their home lives, something true Careers never talk about in the Games. Remembering home makes you emotional, and emotion makes you weak. Several kilometers north of them, the boy from Two is changing Marcus' bandages again, and the sickly yellowed skin makes more than a few people ill.

Little Alina Caelum can see her brother's pain, and wishes that it could all go away, that he can no longer suffer. While her mother agrees, she knows that Marcus' most likely way out at this point is death, a thought which is always accompanied by another sob. The girl's mother and father are near-angry at their daughter, for ruining the family name and playing the Game with District Six _scum_.

* * *

 _District Two_

 _Cassia Lyra Maurise, 18_

 _Mason Lepodolite, 18_

* * *

With the failing health of the One boy, District Two worries about the likelihood of this year's Victor being from One, Two or Four. One and Four have rogues, and the other One is likely dying. While that leaves the Twos without much competition, that also leaves them to hunt the tributes, without guards for their supplies. Unless things end quick, it's not looking so good.

In the Arena, Cassia and Mera are arguing over who will stay behind and watch the supplies with Marcus, and who will go out hunting for tributes. Cassia argues that she stayed back today, while Mera doesn't want her and Mason wandering alone where they can plot and scheme. To everyone's surprise, Mason volunteers to stay behind, not looking up as he finishes applying the last bandage.

Mason's parents are appalled by the idea of their son staying behind to _babysit_. A Career refuses to miss the hunt unless he's threatened, and the blow isn't missed on the Lepodolites. The Maurises, on the other hand, are excited for their daughter to catch another kill. Cassia's sister is more worried for her health though.

* * *

 _District Three_

 _Infiniti Reagan, 17_

 _Cordin Bolt, 16_

* * *

Cordin shouldn't have survived. The whole District knows that, but those who know him well aren't too surprised. As an accomplished thief, he knows how to blend in, and he used the green of his bag to his advantage to escape the Two girl. Now both he and Infiniti have supplies, and, perhaps, a fighting chance.

Infiniti is scavenging in the north end of the Arena, near the treeline. She has yet to step out onto the beach, for reasons unknown to Three. Cordin is testing out his knew goggles, often exclaiming "I was right!" excitedly. He doesn't seem to be shaken at his close call with death, and while that may make him a target, he appears to be fine for now.

Binary, Cordin's brother, is extremely proud of his younger sibling for pulling off such a stunt. While Cordin's gotten away with baked goods, cash, and even a pizza or a cake, even he never thought Cordin could successfully rob the Careers. Infiniti's brother, Riker, desperately wants to spend all his money to help his sister, though his parents know that it won't help anything.

* * *

 _District Four_

 _Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn, 18_

 _Jasper Blue, 16_

* * *

District Four cannot understand how Mera didn't manage to even _notice_ the presence of the Six girl. She's supposed to be a hunter, the most dangerous tribute in the Arena. Yet the pathetic outer District tribute managed to escape her sight. As for Blue, they wish he'd get up and _do_ something. He seems content hanging out with Henry, to their disapproval.

The Career tributes are messing around, though Mera seems to be angry at Cassia, and for good reason. _She_ lost a pair of _night vision goggles_ , something of infinite value in an Arena such as this. The fisher girl, understandably, has the last pair around her neck, and has neglected to tell the others why. Blue and Henry, who they are beginning to refer to as "The Bromance," are deciding on how the next couple days are going to play out.

On Blue's Throne, his parents are still staring at the screens like statues, desperate to see any sign of the son neither has seen in years. They haven't spoken to each other in more than a whisper, and they've gratefully accepted the pills offered by the newscasters to keep them awake. Rosalynn, on Mera's Throne, wishes her sister would hurry and finish the Game so she can come home.

* * *

 _District Five_

 _Devon Cynthia Rose, 17_

 _Darius Line, 17_

* * *

While Devon basically traversed the Arena today, Darius might as well have slept. The boy has barely moved all day, sitting there and mumbling to himself. He's completed his bowstaff, though he doesn't seem very thrilled about it. Devon began to set up snares along the treeline once she reached the beach, though she has so far caught nothing.

Right now, Darius has propped his staff up against a tree, and is staring woefully at his supplies. He's mumbling under his breath, and the District knows he's still stressing over the Nine girl's death. They also know he better clear his head soon, or he's good as dead. Devon has created a new shelter in a tree, better than the one she had earlier that morning. She seems to be doing well for herself, something of a relief to her friends.

On her Throne, Elliot and Gio are standing dutifully, Elliot holding Ori while Gio holds Elliot. The two men had grown closer since the Reapings, not that the Capitol is interested. Devon has only made the top seventeen, not the top Ten. Darius' mother still stands alone, forced to watch and cheer as she watches her son's mental state deteriorate. It's more torturous than being _in_ the Games.

* * *

 _District Six_

 _Jetta Carter, 17_

 _Aran Quade, 17_

* * *

District Six knows that Jetta got extremely lucky today. One wrong move, and she'd have died today, alongside the Ten boy. Her terror when faced with the Career pair must have been astronomical, something the Sixes can't imagine. Aran and Malaya hunted around a little, finding and killing a strange lizard, which they quickly cooked and ate.

Jetta has paused her aimless wanderings for the night, aware that the Arena is a death trap at night. She seems calm, but she betrays signs that she's still shaken. She jerks slightly at every noise, her head constantly swiveling around. Aran seems to be bonding with Malaya, though she still seems unsure of how to handle the situation.

It almost seems as though there's nobody on Aran's Throne tonight, though the lack of movement doesn't really count for anything. Reyna's still there, though she's curled up at the foot of the Throne, asleep. She's too young for the drugs that can keep people awake for days, and she's been through quite the mental ordeal. Jetta's parents have accepted her share, however, and are still up and watching.

* * *

 _District Seven_

 _Logan Woodson, 16_

* * *

Logan seems to have done fairly well for himself the past two days. However, his lack of true activity may make him a target of the Gamemakers. Earlier, Julius Incandes mentioned in an interview that the Capitol hopes for some of the outer District tributes to do something Victor-worthy. They want an outer District Victor for some reason, but they suspect that it's a Career's year.

The lumberjack is currently asleep, according to the footage shown to the Districts. He's placed a scary amount of faith in his makeshift hammock, one which many worry cannot hold his weight forever. He appears to be safe now, but if he doesn't do something about it soon, things will not end well.

On the lone Seven's Throne, William and Lena are aware of just how dire the situation truly is. Logan needs to figure something out before he's forced into another tribute, or worse, the Careers. They know that he isn't the sharpest, but they hope he knows what he has to do to survive the next couple days.

* * *

 _District Eight_

 _Henry Reynoso, 14_

* * *

Henry and Blue were on the opposite side of the Arena from all the action today, thankfully, so Eight is breathing relatively easy. The two boys don't seem to be looking for trouble just yet, having spent most of the day in search of water. The fact that they haven't found any yet is the main concern. While unlikely in an Arena like this, the fact that they haven't found the river yet is troubling.

Denny's death today seemed to hit Henry hard. Before the Games started, he was one of the three fourteen-year-olds in the Arena. Now, he's the very last one. He also knows that boy had two allies, one had died yesterday, and now, the remaining ally has lost two friends, chances of survival. He almost wants to find her and have her join them, but it's nearly impossible.

There is only one Throne sitting in District Eight today, Tulle's having been taken down the day before, her family wandering back into their little shop. While the Reynoso women are grieving for the other family, now the whole District can focus on Henry coming home. While it still isn't very likely at this point in the Game, he's alive, and there's hope.

* * *

 _District Nine_

 _Thanatos Rize, 15_

* * *

Thanatos has grown restless throughout the day. He's aware of his lack of supplies, he wants to get his hands on some type of defense. He watched this morning as the Careers traveled all over the volcano, gathering their supplies and moving them into the jungle, northeast of the Cornucopia. He seemed amused almost, as though his whole situation was below his notice.

As night grew nigh, Than began to head north, toward the area in which he knew the Careers had set up camp in. He's watching them now, from a distance not easily detectable, but he can somewhat see what's going on nonetheless. He seems to be formulating a plan, a plan which he will put into action in the morning.

Aiofe is begging him not to do it. Verbally, and silently. She's been tense all day, listening to the stories from people who knew him before he was Reaped. They don't say a lot of good things when they speak honestly, but the girl still mourns over the years apart from her twin. He has no chance of surviving whatever he's going to attempt, she knows, and she can only sit there and watch.

* * *

 _District Ten_

 _Cheyenne Bruno, 13_

 _Denny Rico, 14_

* * *

Day Two was a brutal one. One full of fear, suspense, and even a death. And Ten knows that, while they lost a boy today, leaving the District in mourning and one last tribute in the field, the Capitol surely threw popcorn at the screen as they squealed in fear. Denny's corpse is something nobody in the District is going to soon forget, as the jaguar dragged him through the jungle a kilometer before the hovercraft managed to pick him up. The cat was genuine, something of a surprise to the Districts.

Cheyenne, while clearly extremely sad, is bouncing back surprisingly well for having just lost an ally. She seems more determined almost, less pouty than when Keola had died. She almost seems to understand that death happens in the Arena, that in order to survive, she has to pass her personal trials first. No Victor won easy, something that Cheyenne has found out the hard way.

On one of the Thrones, a single woman steps down, tears in her eyes, as Peacekeepers move forward to take it down. She has no more reason to be here, a fact that is almost too much to bear for her. On the other, Charles is sitting against the foot of the Throne, holding his wife Vivian and daughter Charlotte. They know Chey's chances dropped today, from 14-1 to 22-1. They're scared.

* * *

 _District Eleven_

 _Willow Orchids, 13_

* * *

Well, Willow survived another day. She hasn't done much of anything though, and has been rather melancholy as she gathered fruit and plants from around her little camp. She's done well keeping herself hidden, though there hasn't been much she needed to hide from. She sat in a tree pretty much all day, in the shade.

She still can't seem to wrap her mind around the sheer amount of tributes she has already outlived. She seemed shocked as Denny's face appeared in the night sky, amazed as she recounted on her fingers who all was left. Seventeen. Sixteen more, and she can come home. While outliving sixteen others may seem unlikely, the Games have proved that just about anything can happen.

On her Throne, Mint and Asher have been watching intently, and have decided to refuse the Capitol drugs in favor of sleeping in shifts. Willow's twin is currently watching his sister, while Mint curls up with a pillow provided to her. While he knows Willow is out of danger for the moment, he also knows that tributes can die at any time.

* * *

 _Capitol_

* * *

While the Games spark a fad nearly every year, it's rare that the trend should show itself so early. Since Denny's death this morning, men and women in the Capitol have rushed to purchase pure, non-mutated jaguar cubs from the most exotic sellers. They all hope they haven't made a grave mistake, of course, and that the mother jaguar _will_ strike again.

President Snow was unsure when Head Gamemaker Mars Viking brought up the idea of having _real_ predators in the Arena, though he is happy with the result. The Treasury has already swelled from the wealth brought in from the cats, and it's only the second day of the Games. Things are looking good in this ugly business, and his smile is almost genuine.

Julius Incandes laughed as he interviewed Austin Bean, the mentor of the boy who died today, and was pleasantly surprised when there was no editing required before it could be broadcasted. Everybody's happy with the day's events, most of all the viewers. Thankfully, most of the remainder of the interviews should be relatively easy, so Julius can, perhaps, rest easy.

* * *

 _Control Center_

* * *

Jade Heghes wishes her tribute would just kill the Six boy already. While she's kept a mental wall between the two of them thus far, Jade can tell its quickly crumbling. Aran just keeps trying to break in and Malaya's conflict is startling. It doesn't help that that Kiara girl is just so infuriating!

Gloss Xerces knows his tribute's time is just about up. The infection has started to spread over his shoulder and up his neck, and the Sponsors won't try to save damaged goods. He needs to do something fast, or Marcus will be the next casualty.

Moara Slater almost wishes Cassia would have caught the Three boy. Not necessarily because she wishes Cassia had more kills, but because the Careers' resources are limited as it is. If they end up fighting over them, Mason or Cassia will almost surely win this year.

Jacob Gold can't believe his tribute led Mera _away_ from the Six girl! He had no idea she was there, of course, but how he could be so stupid as to go the _other way_ , he has no idea. Between that and his volunteering to stay behind tomorrow, Mason is appearing to be weaker and weaker. The idiot.

Ingrid Talbot's sense of pride continues to grow as she watches her tribute. Infiniti has managed to stay out of the Careers' way thus far, and the Gamemakers have nothing to reveal as of yet. Her charge has a brilliant mind, and her traps are bound to snag something eventually.

Matrix Volt knew his tribute was taking a risk, one that was, perhaps, far too high. However, Cordin managed to evade the Two girl by hiding in the thick underbrush, something the Six girl did quite by accident. Now Cordin has an advantage over most of the others, and maybe a fighting chance.

Halibut Odair was screaming at his monitor as his girl stepped right over the tribute from Six. He screamed as she and that Two boy walked away. He screamed as he saw the smirk on Railer Playne's face. He screamed as Mars Viking politely asked him to stop. He screamed when Lily Jeng mentioned him taking things too seriously.

Kinzie Wrasse has no intent with working with Velvet Furse. She has made that clear to him, despite his efforts to point out that chances of survival would be higher if they worked together to figure out what Jasper and Henry really need. She doesn't like her own tribute, let alone this outer-District scum.

Fosca Beralia thinks her tribute might actually win. At current, Devon is on the opposite side of the river that divides the island in two, and the only other tribute on her side is thirteen. As long as everything goes well, of course, Devon can really come home!

Matt Electrode is in disbelief at Darius. What he can't seem to understand is that death comes every year, in every Games, and the Victor _must_ do whatever it takes to survive. Darius is the only outer-District tribute with a kill so far, so his support is greater than many others. Why can't he move on?

Railer Playne was certain his tribute was about to die. The Careers were right there, one stepped _over_ her, and they even had tracks to where she was. Somehow, though, they misread them. Halibut Odair certainly isn't happy about it, but Railer will take what he can get. Jetta is alive, that's all that matters.

Kiara Enygma wishes year after year that she could get into her tribute's head, see what they're thinking and give them tips on how to improve, to survive. This year, with a tribute like Aran Quade under her care, she wants that ability more than ever. She has no idea where he's going with this little relationship, and what he plans on doing in the future.

Lily Jeng knows that if her tribute is going to _survive_ , he's going to need a weapon. Already, tributes have successfully robes the _Careers_ , but she knows Logan wouldn't have the guts to do that. If only he would do something _interesting_ , then she could send him an axe. He's decent with them, but she doesn't have the funds quite yet to _get_ him one.

Velvet Furse can't help but wonder whether or not Kinzie Wrasse is even sane. _She_ signed the Alliance forms with Jasper after the Private Sessions, _she_ said such a bond was a "great idea!" Yet now, she seems to have changed her mind, uncaring about whether her tribute lives or dies. She refuses to put her District Honor on the line for _"cannon fodder."_

Harvest Summer worries about what Thanatos is planning on doing. He's been watching the Careers' camp since the death recap, and his expressions show no emotion, no hint as to what she can do to help. So she must convince him not to do it, that he isn't that desperate yet. But how?

Tabitha Shearer wept over her tribute today. While Cheyenne is still alive, she is broken. She may not show it, but the deaths of both her allies so early in the Game really shook her. While she seems even more determined now, the Gamemakers will likely make her stay in the Arena as torturous as possible, to see how far she can go before the cracks spread too far and consume her.

Austin Bean knew Denny wasn't going to make it. He never was, like every tribute from District Eight and downward. He's seen too many Games, watched too many people die, to have any hope now. As he stares up at the ceiling in his room on Floor Ten, he wonders if hope is even a thing.

Crysta Rine worries that her tribute has already given up. She got too close to that Thorn boy, and now her emotions are making her pay for it. She hasn't done anything of note at all today, and she hasn't spoken once. Crysta supposes that that's natural since she's alone, but she worries all the same.

* * *

 **26** **th** **: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25** **th** **: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24** **th** **: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23** **rd** **: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22** **nd** **: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21** **st** **: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20** **th** **: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19** **th** **: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18** **th** **: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **Sponsors!**

 **dreams and desperation: 229 (** _ **Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female**_ **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 95 (** _ **Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female**_ **)**

 **caitiebug007: 101 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **roses burning: 126 (** _ **Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female**_ **)**

 **The First Adventuress: 201 (** _ **Aran Quade, District Six Male**_ **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 111 (** _ **Logan Woodson, District Seven Male**_ **)**

 **Clis2339: 154 (** _ **Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male**_ **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 45 (** _ **Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male**_ **)**

 _ **Pending**_

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 188 (** _ **Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female**_ **)**

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers (229 points): Marcus (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (229,** _ **dreams and desperation**_ **), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Malaran (Araya?) (201 points): Malaya (1), Aran (6) (201,** _ **The First Adventuress**_ **)**

 **Brains and Brawn (154 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (154,** _ **Clis2339**_ **).**

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3) (88) (88,** _ **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans**_ **)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (227) (101,** _ **catiebug007**_ **) (126,** _ **roses burning**_ **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7) (111) (111,** _ **JaymanRepublic**_ **)**

 **Thanatos (9) (45) (45,** _ **Wolfie McCoy**_ **)**

 **Cheyenne (10) (188) (188,** _ **Mystical Pine Forest**_ **)**

 **Willow (11)**

 **Questions!**

 **What did you think?**

 **Thoughts on the tributes?**

 **The mentors?**

 **The Districts?**

 **The future of these Games?**

 **What's your favorite marine animal?**

 **Until we see our tributes again,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	32. The Cost of Survival- Day Three

**Day 3! And what an interesting day it is! This one was fun to write, though it took me forever to get the thoughts in my head readable XD.**

 **Reviews!**

 **dreams and desperation: I know, I'm feeling pretty great about my current update speed! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks for the review!**

 **The First Adventuress: They haven't been too hard to write as of yet, and the almost pattern like setup of the whole thing honestly makes it simpler, and certainly easier than writing actual Games chapters at times. Thanks for the review!**

 **Clis2339: Don't worry, I'm sure there'll be action at some point XD. It's the Games, after all! Thanks for the review!**

 **Wolfie McCoy: As fun as it would be to be Collins under another name, I am not, sadly. Thanks for the complement, though, and the review!**

 **roses burning: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, it is quite fun when the repetitiveness isn't killing me. I think I'm going to keep those around. I'm happy you're happy about Elliot and Gio. It was short but I suspect we'll hear more about it later. Thanks so much for the review!**

 **Also, I wrote the last 2 POVs shortly after suffering some minor head trauma. Anything that didn't make sense? Typos, grammer, etc?**

 **A note of advice: watch for flying PVC pipes. It does not feel good when one strikes you in the head.**

* * *

Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8

District Eight Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Blue and I got up early again, and my throat is already raw. While I got a few filled water bottles in the Bloodbath, we've yet to find a water source. We decided to go south today, hoping for water and our chance to survive. We move sluggishly but determinedly, and I'm sure we're a strange sight to the people watching us around the country.

I'm surprised at how quickly I've become attached to Blue. He's not exactly like my friends at home, but perhaps that's why I've enjoyed talking to him so much, getting to know him. He's so different from the people back in Eight, and the curiosity must be what drew me to talk to him.

Friends. A concept normally shunned in the Games, but our past lives might as well not exist anymore. Most of us won't have the chance to make friends ever again, so we cling to each other like a lifeline, some sense of familiarity in this world we've been thrown headlong into.

I think of my friends. James. The trickster whose mother died in childbirth. Rebecca. The bright soul who has a younger brother she supports by herself. Like me, people from tragic pasts and the need for someone to vent to. The need for someone who understands, who isn't full of pity. The last time I talked to either of them is almost a dream, a dream too good to be true.

No, Blue might as well be the only person I know. The only person who would grieve after my death, in a jungle filled with people who wish it more than anything, deep down. He's the older brother I always wanted, the one who can protect me from the bullies. But these aren't the bullies back home who poked and prodded and knew I couldn't fight back. These ones have a full intent to kill me.

My mind is jolted from its wandering as I slam into Blue's back. He's stopped, head turned and straining. I step back and look at his face, his eyes shifting randomly. His head swivels around to look at me, and a broad grin lights up his face. He never smiled in training, I don't think. He's loosened up in the Arena.

"Do you hear that?" He asks quietly. He barely raises his voice, aware of the ever-lurking danger that is the Careers. "It's faint, but it's there nonetheless."

I look at him for a moment, before stepping beside him. I strain my ears, unsure of what I'm listening for. Then, at last, I hear it.

The angry roar of river rapids.

While we both want to sprint headlong to the water, we also know that that would not be a good idea. We would dehydrate faster, but we would also alert anybody nearby to our presence. While I have placed my faith one-hundred-percent behind Blue and his spear, I don't want to see anybody die today, least of all myself and Blue.

We walk for at least an hour, and the sun is up now, directly above the Arena. The sound of rushing water has swelled to a crescendo, and as we break through one more section of trees, we can see the river through a slit between the trees. We march forward, and behold the sight.

The bank here is almost nonexistent, with about a foot of volcanic rock raising above the water level. The current is fast here, and I imagine it will become a white-water rafting course after the end of the Games. The angry liquid crashes around spikes of stone, foams in twisting lines over its width. Falling in would mean certain death, but Blue and I don't need to cross it. Not today, at least.

"Come on!" Blue shouts, waving me toward him. He's started walking upstream, no doubt looking for a place where the water will no doubt be cleaner and safer. I follow, and it's only a few minutes before we find a place to stop and fill our four bottles we had emptied the last two days. I take another swig from our last bottle as Blue adds a drop of iodine to each, before holding it out to him.

"Thanks." He says, drinking a fair amount himself. "So. You wanna go find something to eat?" He asks as he hands it back to me.

I watch him test the tip of his spear before I answer. "Sure, why not?"

* * *

Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District 1

District One Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

My vision has started to blur, and I'm cold. So cold. Someone has propped me up in the sunlight, and I suspect it's Mason. The figure hurrying around camp and tending to me is wearing red, something the Twos are wearing if I remember correctly. And Cassia's too inconsiderate to help.

I want to scream in frustration. I am a Career, not some stupid outlier! I don't know what's happening, but I'm almost certain that it isn't good. I remember the jungle being sweltering only yesterday, and today I have several blankets and a bright orange fuzz in front of me, but it doesn't help.

I think the girls went hunting this morning, and I remember them fighting over it last night, before Mason volunteered to stay back with me. It seemed unlikely, but maybe that's not what happened. Yesterday, I thought I saw Cassia chase a tribute into the trees and _not_ kill them, but that's impossible, surely. I don't think _anybody_ in this Arena could escape Cassia or Mera.

I watch curiously as the orange thing in front of me slowly shrinks into oblivion, before a larger, darker red one suddenly appears. I cough, trying to scare it away, away from my line of sight, so that I may see the orange thing. It's moving around carefully, unaware of the nuisance it is. I will shoo it away, I think, get it out of my way. It's in my way. Slowly, shakily, I reach out, another fit of coughs wracking my body as the piercing cold penetrates my hand, my wrist, my forearm. The red thing seizes my hand, I think, before it disappears. I retreat my arm, and am confused to no longer see or sense the orange blur.

There's a faint sound, something I almost recognize, coming from above me. I move slowly, the light hurting my eyes. I'm forced to close them, and the sound becomes more penetrating. I want to move to that wonderful sound, that melodic electronic beep that makes me feel hope. I open my eyes again to see a silver blur disappear behind a wall of green. The noise stops, and I look back to the orange. Wait. Where did it go?

Something moves. I look, and I see a tall green thing, darker than the light wall that surrounds me. It stands by a pile of black and silver, and I blink as a sharp light emits from the stack. A piece of the silver merges with the green, before growing larger and larger together.

While this game of colors has been interesting, I'm tired. I want to fall asleep, but I want to see what the green thing does. It towers over me now, and I notice the stark white circle on top of it. Nope, sleep. I feel myself fall back, and the world goes dark.

I hope the orange would be willing to help me push back the blackness. Black is boring.

* * *

Thanatos Rize, Age 15, District 9

District Nine Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I've been watching the Careers since last night, and I've learned a few things in that time. One: They have next to no supplies. Two: The girl from One abandoned ship. Three: She injured her District Partner, and the boy from Two knows nothing about survival. Four: The Careers are going to be reduced to three extremely soon. Five: Tensions among them are high. Very high.

The girls from Two and Four got into an argument last night, causing the Two boy to stay back and guard One and the supplies. The girls left early this morning, and I had to hide in the shadows as they headed south in my direction. Since then, the boy from Two has been trying his best to care for the slightly younger boy, having changed his bandages at least twice. It is because of him that I am still here, a few meters into the treeline, hidden from sight.

As I watch, he squats down between One and his fire, and begins speaking. I don't catch what he's saying, but he seems frustrated about his inability to coax a response out of the other tribute. One breaks out into a coughing fit, his body shaking, before his arm reaches out toward his ally. Two grabs his wrist, looks down at the dying fire, then jogs into the trees, disappearing from sight.

 _This is my chance!_ I think, stepping forward. _I can get a weapon and kill One, then get out before the Career gets back_. I'm about to do it too, when a metallic beeping sound cuts through the air. I look up and curse inwardly as I catch sight of the silver parachute descending toward me. Harvest. That wretched mentor of mine is going to get me killed!

I stand impatiently as it comes, and catch it in midair, opening it quickly. Inside the small box, I find a bag of food, a pair of binoculars, and a small slip of paper. I hastily throw the cord connected to the binoculars around my neck, shoving them under my poncho. Then, the bag of jerky finds itself stuffed in my pants pocket. I unfold the note, and read the two words.

 _Patience._ –Harvest

Anger boils up in my chest. She just wants me to die, doesn't she? That manipulative little girl! She wants me to _not_ take this golden opportunity for supplies and a way of defending myself, and she bribes me with a day's worth of food and a way to watch the fighting from far away? No! My useless mentor can't seem to do squat for me, so I will do it myself!

I remove my hood as I look up, where I hope Ms. Summer can see me on her little screen. I shake my head slowly, throwing the empty parachute to the ground. I will _not_ play her Game! I'm going to act. Now.

I march past the trees into the clearing, staring down the One boy. He watches me curiously as I make my way to the unguarded pile of weapons in the middle of the camp, spying the scythe I know was originally left for me. The Careers should have burned what they weren't using. Now they'll pay for their foolish decision.

The staff of the weapon sparks a memory in my arms, one of the years of practice I gave myself, one of my Session with the Gamemakers and what I did to score a Nine. This is a weapon of death and torment, a weapon created for my sole use. A reaper of souls.

I look up at One, whose gaze hasn't left me. I stride over to him, and let my anger control my actions. He stares up at me as I ready my weapon, ready to swing forward and drive the point into his heart. I rear back, watching his expression for a betrayal of his thoughts. Some semblance of what's going to happen. As I watch, his eyes roll into the back of his head, and I strike. The cannon sounds as my blade penetrates his skin, and I notice for the first time the dark tendrils reaching over his back and around his neck.

I want to scream in anger as I realize: Harvest lost me the kill. If she hadn't sent me anything, I might have killed him. But the infected wound somewhere on his back did the job I was more than capable of completing.

I stand, looking around for the backpacks I had spotted earlier. They're to my right, near one of the tents, but before I start toward them I hear a voice calling out. "Marcus! Marcus, are you alright? Marcus!" The Two boy breaks through the trees again, on the other side of the backpacks. If I try to nab one, he will surely kill me. So I do what's best for my own survival, and flee.

I'm almost to the edge of the clearing when the rattle of metal breaks the sounds of the jungle, and a spear leaps out from behind me, lodging itself in a tree. In his rage, the buffoon _missed_. I don't dare look back, not knowing how Mason will react to what just happened. I cut my way through vines and saplings, and don't stop until I hear the voice call out again, faint in the dense brush.

"How dare you? I will KILL YOU!" There's no noise again after that, so I move on as steadily and calmly as I dare. Perhaps my mentor was right.

Winning isn't simply outlasting the others.

* * *

Willow Orchids, Age 13, District 11

District Eleven Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I hear the dull thud of the cannon, but I don't react out of fear. I've been pretty much living in this tree the past two days, my years of experience from climbing in District Eleven helping me move from branch to branch nimbly and steadily. My balance has kept me from falling, and that same balance helps me keep still even now, when I need it most.

I look down again from my vantage point, past the water and to the opposite bank, where two girls are arguing again. One of them has a knife in either hand, the other a sword, the tip casually embedded in the black dirt. I can't hear what they're saying, but they've been here the past hour, collecting water and fighting.

They pause at the cannon, however, and look at each other, before conversing a little more quietly and walking upstream. I thank the heavens above for my decision to pick a tree on the bank near heavy rapids, or they could have simply swam across and found me. The girls from Two and Four are strong and intimidating, but I suspect they'd never survive swimming through this.

I know I have to move though, in case they somehow saw me. I hate to consider it, but I suspect they went to look for an easier route, make me think I was safe. No, I can't let that happen. Regretfully, I sling my pack over my shoulders and begin to make my way down, carefully watching for footholds and branches to support me as I climb to the ground. I don't know how far upriver the Career girls will have to go, so I need to be fast.

My ankle rolls slightly as I hit the ground, but I take little notice. Images flash through my mind, of what Careers have done in past years when they caught a tribute that couldn't fight back. That escaped their clutches before. I remember the Twelve girl, her face appearing in the night just after Thorn. The life-ending snap of her bone. No. I cannot be like them. I'm going home, whether they like it or not.

I run as fast as I can through the jungle, unsure of whether or not I can sacrifice stealth for the sake of speed. I feel like I make good time though, as the trees and plants and black stone blur in the corners of my vision. I allow the images to continue to project themselves before me, so that they may propel me onward, toward safety. Despite my best efforts, the adrenaline vanishes quickly, and as such, I grow tired fast. I can't be a kilometer away when I have to stop and brace myself against a tree, though I should be fine for now.

It's a lot of work, surviving here. One wrong step can get you a broken neck. One wrong decision, and it's kill or be killed. I've been lucky so far, but how long will this streak last?

No, I can't think that way. I will go to the end of the Games, and long after that.

* * *

Esmeralda Dawn, Age 18, District 4

District Four Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I can't believe it's only Day Three. Already, I'm done with this Game. I was supposed to come in here, kill a few tributes and be wearing a crown before I knew it. I wasn't supposed to have to deal with mouthy _Allies_.

We've been on our way back to camp for the past couple hours. We were forced to leave after only looking for the Eleven girl for only around a half an hour, or risk having to trek through the night. It hasn't really begun to grow dark yet, and we are making our way around the southeast side of the volcano, if I'm correct, and if it weren't for the pesky Two girl I'd almost be enjoying this.

"Next time you tell me not to, I'm going to anyway." She says for like the hundredth time. She wanted to try and throw a knife at the girl from across the river, and I told her that I didn't want her death to be too quick. If she hadn't charged out to the water the second she saw the girl, we might have made our way around, undetected.

But _no._ We're going back, empty-handed, with another death having happened elsewhere in the Arena. Again. "Mmhm" is my only response, to which she goes silent for a moment, and I smile as I imagine her expression.

I pick up my pace as I smell the smoke of a campfire. Maybe Mason had something to do with today's death. It'd be nice if Cassia's bickering would cease, if only for a moment. Distract her long enough to figure out a way to properly counter her arguments.

We break through the trees in silence, the sky growing darker and the sides of the tents illuminated by an unseen light. The crackling of the wood becomes audible as we weave through our camp, and I pause as I see a lone figure kneeling beside the fire, their back to us. Cassia continues marching ahead, however, and calls out, "So where's the gimpy one?" The figure jumps to standing, and I see the glint of a sword held aloft.

"He's dead," Mason informs her, and I start moving again, "killed by the Nine boy while I was out getting more firewood." I see his head turn, facing me, and I have to say I'm glad the deadweight is gone. I don't care what happened, we don't have to look for any extra food now, since we probably lost the last of it today.

"Dang. I was hoping you had gotten the kill today, because _we_ certainly didn't catch anything." She shoots me a glare, and I want to groan from sheer annoyance. Can't she just _let it go?_ She never would have hit the girl anyway, not with a killing shot. I just helped her conserve her knives. She should be thanking me. "We had treed the Eleven girl, but _Esmeralda_ wouldn't let me."

I roll my eyes. "We never "treed" anyone. The girl was already there, on the other side of a _river_." I feel stupid, like a child explaining herself to her mother. What even the heck is this? "And, on that note, we actually have a water source. It runs across the Arena from what I can figure, and we walked East today. There's bound to be a good camping spot somewhere, and the tributes will likely flock to it."

"The Eleven girl-"

"Is going to die whether we kill her today or in a week." I interrupt, "We need water to survive right now, not kills. We can try looking for her later." I look to Mason, who has been watching the argument with amusement. He seems as though he agrees with me, and while I wasn't worried, I'm happy to have him on my side. It would be much more difficult moving camp to the river with two uncooperative allies.

The Hunger Games sure aren't what I expected them to be. If things between the Alliance is going to be this difficult, they're going to have to go.

* * *

Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1

District One Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I don't understand what's happening to me. Over the past few days, my stress levels seem to be rising, and while that's understandable based on my situation, this is much different than what I had expected. I feel like I'm not in the right place, but I'm where I want to be. I feel like I have things to do, but no desire to do it. I may not understand it, but sitting next to Aran, I have a strange feeling of simply _not caring_.

I still don't know why I saved him in the Bloodbath. I told myself as I went to bed the night after I first talked to him that I would avoid him as much as possible. That staying with the pack and surviving were more important than having _friends_. I'm here to win, not expand on my social life.

And yet, somehow I have done just that. I saved his life, putting me in the dishonorable situation of traitor to the Careers, to my family, to my District. To Marcus.

I didn't kill him that first day, a fact which left me relieved. While I honestly never liked him all that much, he was my Partner, my one reminder of home. And I shot him in the back, left him to die. I know any of the others would have likely killed him the second they found out he was injured, though I don't see how he might have gotten away. If he did somehow make it to the jungle, I know he hasn't much time left. If Mera or even Cassia had mercy on him and bandaged his wound properly, he should heal in several more days. Then, he'll be up and moving. And hunting.

Hunting for us.

I know they've likely already tried to search for Aran and I, but I also know that Marcus would be better at finding me than anyone. While we never trained in anything even similar, we are still of the same District, the same academy. He knows my ways better than anyone, though he likely knows nothing about me as a person. My personal life. Aran, on the other hand, does.

I don't know how he does it. Since Day One, he's somehow managed to get me to talk about myself, though he doesn't press or make me feel guilty. He asks, and I somehow feel the need to answer, as though all my worries will vanish if I say it out loud to him. At first, I thought it was because he was going to die anyway. Now, however, I'm not so sure.

I've learned things about him, too. His mother died when he was eight, during childbirth. His father landed himself in jail soon after, and he's taken care of his little sister since then. She's the light of his life. He was arrested the night before the Reaping after he himself had been mugged and broke into a bakery. He likes watching the sun rise, both for its beauty and the fact that it signals the end of his shift.

"Who do you think it was?" He asks quietly. We've barely spoken above a whisper, especially at night. We both heard the cannon go off earlier today, but neither of us has been wanting to bring it up. I know he's worried for Jetta, his Partner.

"I have absolutely no idea." I say, the same thing I said yesterday, before the boy from Ten appeared. I wasn't surprised then, I knew he wasn't making it far. Perhaps his Partner was today. If I mention it, though, it wouldn't put him at ease.

It's really dark right now, and I know they're about to show the recap. The Gamemakers darken the sky so the cameras can better catch the light contrast, at ten o'clock on the dot each night. Our spot on the ground has a perfect view of the sky, as we determined yesterday. As the seal of Panem appears in the West, I sense Aran scoot over, grabbing my hand. I flinch slightly, but somehow, as though my actions were someone else's, my fingers grip around his palm, allowing his to do the same. I hear his breathing go nearly silent, preparing himself for what is to happen.

The seal hovers for a moment, the strained chords of the anthem diving into the hearts and minds of every tribute in the Arena. The words can barely be heard over the music, but we all know it by heart anyway; a song of horns and rising above and being thankful for the generosity shown to us.

I feel more pressure in my hand as the seal shrinks away, Aran's grip tightening like a viper. The face of today's dead appears and I stare at the picture for a moment.

I guess I was wrong. It wasn't the Ten girl. It also wasn't the Six girl. I look at Aran for his expression of relief, but his face is one of horror, of grief. I look up again. I recognize the face, the word _District_ below his picture. The simple number accompanying it-

Then it hits me like a sack of diamonds. Marcus. Marcus, the boy who wasn't even supposed to be here. Marcus, who I joked with and bonded with on the train. Marcus, who stood beside me in the Parade, in training, the Sessions, the Interviews, the common room on Floor One. My Partner. My piece of home.

The boy I shot. The boy I killed.

I look back at Aran, and I can tell he's unsure of how I'll react, worried I might blame him. But what did he do? He wanted to survive, he didn't take the shot, he just wanted to talk to me, make sure I was okay.

I release his hand as tears fill my eyes. The image of Marcus in the night sky is gone, gone forever, and though I can't see him, I know he's there. I lunge forward, my arms reaching around his neck, my face falling against his chest. The top of my head slams into his chin, and he falls back slightly as he realizes what's happening, but I don't care.

What have I done? This is all my fault. What have I done what have I done whathaveIdone whathaveIdone?

I feel myself melt a little as his arms rub my back, between my shoulder blades, small circles that are surprisingly comforting and exactly what I need.

What am I doing here?

* * *

 **17** **th** **Place: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male**

 **Slain by Sepsis**

 **Time in Arena: 2 days 3 hours 36 minutes 1 second**

 **Marcus wasn't originally going to go this soon. I knew he was going to be shot, and Mera or Cassia was going to help him, but then I decided that Mason would be the one to walk his way and Mason is honestly dumber than a box of rocks. I wanted to use his death to expand on Malaya a bit, and so he fell this chapter. Thanks to InfiniteDespair for Marcus, and a Career I never thought I would get.**

* * *

 **26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **17** **th** **: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male**

* * *

 **Sponsors!**

 **dreams and desperation: 240 (** ** _Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female_** **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 103 (** ** _Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female_** **)**

 **caitiebug007: 109 (** ** _Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female_** **)**

 **roses burning: 137 (** ** _Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female_** **)**

 **The First Adventuress: 212 (** ** _Aran Quade, District Six Male_** **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 119 (** ** _Logan Woodson, District Seven Male_** **)**

 **Clis2339: 165 (** ** _Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male_** **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56 (** ** _Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male_** **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 196 (** ** _Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female_** **)**

* * *

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers (240 points): Mason (2), Cassia (2) (240,** ** _dreams and desperation_** **), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Malaran (Araya?) (212 points): Malaya (1), Aran (6) (212,** ** _The First Adventuress_** **)**

 **Brains and Brawn (165 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (165,** ** _Clis2339_** **).**

* * *

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3) (103) (103,** ** _The Fangirl in Pink Jeans_** **)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (246) (109,** ** _catiebug007_** **) (137,** ** _roses burning_** **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7) (119) (119,** ** _JaymanRepublic_** **)**

 **Thanatos (9) (56) (56,** ** _Wolfie McCoy_** **)**

 **Cheyenne (10) (196) (196,** ** _Mystical Pine Forest_** **)**

 **Willow (11)**

* * *

 **Questions!**

 **What did you think of the chapter?**

 **Any mistakes I missed?**

 **Thoughts on today's death?**

 **Favorite POV?**

 **Thoughts on the Careers?**

 **Malaran?**

 **Know any stories that look like they have potential and need tributes? I have literally 3 in stories right now and I want to read more.**

 **Hoping your Thorsday is as fantastical as ever!**


	33. Illusions of Safety- Day Three Recap

**It's that time again! Another update, recapping Day 3! And on time, too! Yes!**

 **Reviews!**

 **TheFirstAdventuress: It's Freyasday, I think. Sunsday, Moonsday, Tiusday, Wodensday, Thorsday, Freyasday and Saturnsday. Or something. I don't remember if you asked me to write Malaya that way either, but after I read the form I knew I'd have to write it like that. Fingers crossed I don't screw myself over here XD. Thanks for the review!**

 **dreams and desperation: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, it was another fun one to write. Thanks for the review!**

 **Clis2339: If I'm being honest, I think Willow's had more description because it would have been so much shorter otherwise XD. I understand what you mean though, I think. Thanks for the review!**

 **roses burning: I'm glad you thought so highly of the chapter, and my writing in general. You have no idea how much that means to me. Or maybe you do. I don't know. Thanks for the review!**

* * *

 _District One_

 _Malaya Garnet, 17_

 _Marcus Caelum, 17_

* * *

Marcus Caelum's death wasn't too much of a surprise to District One. While he was handsome, strong, a _Career_ , the little conversations between Julius Incandes and Nero Domitian on HGN gave little hope to the District. The interview Julius had with Gloss Xerces, where he said he needed more funds, didn't help much either.

In the Arena, Malaya has fallen asleep against Aran's shoulder, after beating herself up over Marcus' death for well over an hour. The Six boy is acting as though it's perfectly normal, his eyes scanning the darkness around them. One has to root for them now, she's their only chance at a Victor this year. The pair _is_ kind of cute, isn't it?

Marcus' mother averted little Alina's gaze as she realized that the Nine boy was going to invade the Careers' camp. The eleven year old didn't see her brother's final moments, didn't see the scythe plunge through his chest. Malaya's parents were in disbelief at their daughter's sudden outburst of emotion, and knows that she won't be able to hold off the Six boy much longer at all. Her complete trust in him shows that.

* * *

 _District Two_

 _Cassia Lyra Maurise, 18_

 _Mason Lepodolite, 18_

* * *

Mason calmed down quickly after Marcus' body was picked up earlier today, and became more focused on how to break it to the girls, how to keep the alliance together. They took it well, though, and it seemed they couldn't care less whether it was his fault or not. Cassia is, of course, infuriated at having missed the Eleven girl, and has yet to kill Mera per Mason's wishes.

She's arguing with the fisher girl again, blaming her for the lost kill. Mason is watching the situation, making sure it doesn't go from bad to worse. His hand is on the hilt of his sword, but the girls haven't reached for their weapons. Yet. He hasn't mentioned Nine yet, but they haven't noticed the missing scythe, to his relief. There's still a chance all three can be in the final Four, and then Two can have the glory it deserves.

Both families on the Thrones are aware of just how pathetic their tributes are beginning to appear to the Capitol, and hope that they can catch someone soon. Mason's parents, especially his father, cannot believe that _their_ son managed to allow an _outlier_ to rob him, nor the fact that he missed his target when he threw the spear. Cassia's wish she would kill the Four girl now, before she makes them look any worse.

* * *

 _District Three_

 _Infiniti Reagan, 17_

 _Cordin Bolt, 16_

* * *

Infiniti's traps along the northern edge of the jungle caught several small lizards and even a monkey, which she roasted over a fire on the beach around midday. She's managed to keep a level head thus far, and showed no elation nor grief over the One boy's death. Cordin has been hunting for something to eat most of the day, though his newfound axe is of little help. He did manage to find some frogs in a small pool, however, so he's not in too bad a place as of yet.

Infiniti has made herself a small shelter, hidden in a small grove just off the beach. It's impossible to see unless you're in the right place or right next to it, and even then it looks like everything else. Cordin is fingering his axe, looking into the threatening darkness around him. He doesn't seem to be afraid, his goggles easing any worries he might have, for good reason.

Infiniti's family still worries about her getting too comfortable, but as long as she keeps busy, she should be fine. It doesn't seem as though she has much left that she can do though, so that could be potentially problematic. Most of Cordin's family is absent today, save for Binary, who would normally have work but is, of course, allowed to have leave for Cordin. Besides, the Capitol wants at least one person there for reaction shots, just in case.

* * *

 _District Four_

 _Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn, 18_

 _Jasper Blue, 16_

* * *

District Four believes Mera made the right decision in letting the Eleven girl live, for today. No Career could have made a kill from that far without a bow, and neither girl had a bow on her. A knife thrown from that distance would have more than likely missed, or lost all momentum before it struck its target. Blue and Henry finding water today came as a relief to them, and so they're resting easy after the day's events.

The boys have found much to eat since they found the river, and while the head of Blue's spear obliterated most of the animal half the time, they still have a decent haul for the day. They're putting out the fire they've had going most of the day, intent on restarting it tomorrow. Mera and the Twos have settled down for the night, though Cassia is upset at Mera having gotten her way. They're going to move camp tomorrow, toward the water source.

On the Thrones in front of the Justice Building, the families are pretty much the same as they have been the past couple days. Jokah Dawn wishes his daughter had claimed a kill, but knows she was right about the Eleven girl. Nina Fontaine and Corey Blue are a lot more relaxed now, though they still sit, staring, watching.

* * *

 _District Five_

 _Devon Cynthia Rose, 17_

 _Darius Line, 17_

* * *

Devon and Darius didn't do much today, staying out of the way of the Careers and the notice of the Gamemakers. Devon's traps have so far been fruitless, though she doesn't seem to be concerned. Darius sharpened both ends of his staff, though whether or not he'll be able to use it as a spear is to be seen. Both tributes are relatively safe for the time being, but their situations could become dire in the future.

Devon was delighted when she saw the One boy's face in the sky, though she thinks that the Career Alliance is already broken, an idea which has made her begin to plan for the future. Her being wrong, however, could potentially get her killed. Darius, on the other hand, doesn't seem to care either way, the One boy not even fazing him. "Fifteen to go." He mumbled to himself.

Darius' mother wonders if this was how her son acted outside the Arena, when he wasn't home and glaring at her. She wishes that she might have been able to communicate with him better, let him know everything that actually happened that day. Ori wanders around the platform to the joy of the Capitol, as Thalia watches. David Rose, Devon's father, has made the effort to leave his bed today, his worry for his daughter more important than his health. While he doesn't notice much of what's going on, his features light up when he sees Devon or Ori.

* * *

 _District Six_

 _Jetta Carter, 17_

 _Aran Quade, 17_

* * *

Neither of the Six tributes moved much today, an action which potentially saved lives. Had Jetta moved East, she could have run into the Careers again. Had Aran and Malaya moved, they could have run into multiple different tributes, from the boys from Four and Eight, the girl from Five, or the boy from Seven. Instead, they explored the areas they found themselves in the night before, finding food and such throughout the day.

Jetta is sleeping now, in a little alcove between two trees. She is very lucky that the Arena is a warm one this year, or she'd have died from the cold by now. As the only remaining tribute without supplies of any kind, thing aren't looking so good. Aran is still sitting against the tree he and Malaya are under, though the One girl has moved herself from his shoulder in her restless sleep. He's still watching the darkness around them, not that there's anything to watch for.

Reyna, on Aran's Throne, has fallen asleep again, though she tried her best to stay awake. The Capitol, of course, loves the small girl's persistence, and there are rumors going around that a drug will be created for children, similar to the one that keeps the adults awake. On Jetta's Throne, her parents, Byke and Laney, wish that they could predict what their daughter might be doing tomorrow. The truth is, however, that they have no idea, and are terrified.

* * *

 _District Seven_

 _Logan Woodson, 16_

* * *

Logan further explored the area he found himself in Day One, making his way through the trees, seldom touching the ground. He's at home here, of course, and the bag slung over his shoulders did little to slow him down in his wanderings. The Capitol was amazed by any acrobatics he showed, flipping over branches or swinging from vines. The speed at which he moved was mesmerizing.

He's back in his hammock again, excited at the prospect of a Career being gone. He doesn't seem like he's planning on moving, however, unlike many others who think the Careers have split. He's committed himself to getting to know his area better than anyone, looking for paths and such others cannot follow. His map is of little use in lieu of his strategy, but it's keeping him alive for now.

On Logan's Throne, the family is growing restless. They feel that something's coming, and though there haven't been any hints from the Capitol, they feel it coming all the same. Even Jake, that Seven tribute's brother, can feel the stillness in the air. Logan may be in trouble, and they're forced to watch and _enjoy_.

* * *

 _District Eight_

 _Henry Reynoso, 14_

* * *

Henry didn't do much today for himself, other than grinding up roots for a stew he made with the creatures Blue had killed. District Eight is fine with things being done for their tribute by another, as that means his energy may be conserved and he could potentially outlive his ally. It's a cruel thought, but their tribute comes first. Always.

Henry is sleeping whilst Blue keeps watch, the older boy weaving through the trees as he searches the dark. The banks of the river aren't far, and he sits down and listens to the running water once in a while, likely thinking of home. Eight can only imagine how homesick Henry must be, in a place as unfamiliar and terrifying as the Arena. While he may know plants to a surprising extent, the island around him is nothing like District Eight.

On the young boy's Throne, his grandmother and sisters remain strong, their confidence and faith unwavering. While the odds of Eight having a Victor this year currently stand at 60-1, worse than any other tribute, they refuse to even consider his fall. Fifteen more need to die before one can come home, however, and while their faith may seem foolish, it's certainly admirable.

* * *

 _District Nine_

 _Thanatos Rize, 15_

* * *

District Nine is in disbelief at how Thanatos acted today. While their tribute most certainly was ready to murder the One boy, even delivered the blow, the kill isn't being counted toward his kill count. The boy was dead as Than swung the scythe, and while Sponsors aren't interested in an "almost" kill, they _are_ interested in surviving the spear thrown by Mason.

Thanatos was angry as the One boy's face lit up the night sky, and he slashed through the underbrush around him to prove it. Properly vented now, his breathing is becoming steadier, and critics are beginning to believe he is reflecting upon his near-experience with death. He seems more at peace with a means of defending himself, however, and his odds have certainly improved greatly over the course of the day.

Aoife still stands alone on the tribute's Throne, and it's a wonder she's even related to Than, let alone his twin. While he's tall and stark white and practically a living skeleton, she's rather short and blonde and drop-dead gorgeous. The difference is so bad that the Peacekeepers refused to let her on the Throne until they verified her identity. She's there though, supportive and scared. It's too bad they never really knew each other; she might have made him happier before what might be his last days.

* * *

 _District Ten_

 _Cheyenne Bruno, 13_

* * *

Cheyenne didn't do much today, other than try to make the best of her situation and plan for the upcoming lonely, and very likely difficult days or weeks. She has so far outlived ten others, half of them her own age or younger. She has so far survived Day Three, and so long as she avoids other tributes, she should be alright for the next few days.

In the Arena, the young girl is trying her best to stay awake, though her rather foolish decision to prop her head against her pack is making that task quite difficult. However, falling asleep wouldn't be that bad right now, as there aren't any other tributes for a few kilometers and nobody has any plans of trying to get around in the dark. There will likely be no deaths tonight, and it certainly won't be Cheyenne.

The Brunos have to admit at how worried they are at how well Cheyenne is reacting to this whole situation. On the off-chance that she comes home, she could be mentally butchered or miraculously unaffected. They're not sure which would be worse, but they know the young girl has to outlive fifteen others first. Then they'll see what they're up against.

* * *

 _District Eleven_

 _Willow Orchids, 13_

* * *

Willow's close call today was nothing more than that: a close call. While she might have been in trouble with Mason's crossbow or Malaya's javelin or bow, Mason stayed behind and Malaya deserted. District Eleven has found in the past several decades that it is often the choices of others that determine whether or not you'll survive, and this year is no different.

Willow has found a new place for her camp, and is relieved to find it strikingly similar to the place she left earlier in the day. She hasn't made the mistake of living in a tree next to the river though, and should be safe in the coming days from the other tributes and whatever the Gamemakers cook up. They usually torture the older tributes with their devilish ideas anyway.

Like Thanatos, Willow's twin stands on the platform, alongside their older sister, Mint. The older girl fainted earlier when the Careers caught sight of Willow, though Asher may have simply been too terrified for his mind to consider that. The two are breathing easy now, of course, knowing that the Careers will likely set up camp near the river, which she isn't even close to. She's safe for now, but there's only so long it can last.

* * *

 _Capitol_

* * *

Much of the Capitol is mourning at the death of the handsome One boy, something they saw coming after Day Two but refused to believe. Analysts have been debating all day on whose kill list the boy should be on, but in the end, they chose infection. Mason's infecting him was unintentional, without immediate effect, and Thanatos was a split-second too late.

In the Arena control room, bacterial expert Gerhad Holliger is satisfied with his work. The disease the leaves were laced with Day One, the one that killed Marcus Caelum, was of his own design, something he proudly dubbed Holliger-13. While other Gamemakers find his job to be pointless, it _does_ take out tributes once every few years. What makes Landscape Design so important?

With the death of the One boy, every other tribute's odds have increased, as noted by Analyst Jacorvic Norrs. The best odds currently stand with Mason Lepodolite from Two and Esmeralda Dawn from Four at 3-1, Cassia Maurise from Two at 4-1, Malaya Garnet from One, Jasper Blue from Four, and Thanatos Rize from Nine at 8-1, and Devon Rose from Five and Aran Quade from Six at 10-1. The odds from there are not so good, with Cordin Bolt from Three at 12-1, Infiniti Reagan from Three and Darius Line from Five at 16-1, Logan Woodson from Seven at 20-1, Cheyenne Bruno from Ten at 30-1, Jetta Carter from Six and Willow Orchids from Eleven at 42-1, and finally Henry Reynoso at 60-1.

* * *

 _Control Center_

* * *

Jade Heghes think her tribute is falling. Her actions at the end of today have worn away any armor she had left, and Jade fears that there's no way of putting it back together. Jade's charge seems determined to stick to the Six boy, which means she'll be forced to work with Kiara Enygma after all. Freaking District Six.

Gloss Xerces resigned himself to another loss as the Nine boy made his way to the Careers' camp early this morning. Now he has to wait until the end of the Games when they'll put him under again. Seventeenth. Not very good, but still not his worst.

Moara Slater thinks her tribute is going to win. While the Career Alliance is down to only three, the remainder of the other tributes really aren't threats. She suspects that, while Cass has been constantly feuding with Mera, Mason will somehow keep the Alliance together, until they're all that's left. Then Mera will die and Mason's sword is nothing when knives are flying at your neck.

Jacob Gold is angry at his charge. Again. Mason had the Nine boy, he _had the kill_. He'd pull ahead of the others, a third name on his list as opposed to their two. But _no_. If Jacob had his way, he'd march into the Arena and slap Mason Lepodolite silly. He wishes Annie had been able to take over this year, if only so he wouldn't have to deal with _stupidity_.

Ingrid Relbot feels fairly confident in her tribute at this point. While Infiniti has yet to find a source of water, she _has_ found everything else she needs to stay alive. Water _will_ become a problem soon, however, once her final bottle empties. She's fine for now, though. If she can find the river, she'll be golden.

Matrix Volt knows his tribute should be okay for the next while with the supplies he has. He's yet to find water, but he has a weapon, a bottle for water, and a way to get around in the dark. While his given odds aren't looking so great, the odds have been known to lie. Victors are survivors, and Cordin bolt is a survivor.

Halibut Odair has so far agreed with his tribute in every one of her decisions, and today was no different. The loss of the Eleven girl was all the Two girl's fault, something that has brought satisfaction to Esmeralda. While she isn't sitting in the best position, she has played smart, and brains beat Careers any day.

Kinzie Wrasse wishes her tribute would just kill the Eight boy. He is of no use, more a hindrance than a help to an honorable Four. She doesn't know how to tell him this, or even if he will listen. She just hopes he does something soon; she doesn't trust the Eight boy or his team in the slightest.

Fosca Beralia's tribute has been fine so far, keeping under the radar and simply surviving day to day. She is amazed that both Fives have outlived ten tributes, though Darius and Dev are older than most of them anyway. This is the point in which the frontrunners are determined, and she thinks Devon might be one of them.

In Matt Electrode's mind, watching Darius' mental state as it deteriorates is almost as bad as his own Games. He had an ally like Darius: the girl from Seven, Evelynn. She made a kill a couple days in, and was unable to do it again. She placed fifteenth. If Darius is anything like her, he will be going soon.

Railer Playne is still surprised that Jetta is alive at this point. He never expected her to outlast a Career, and even somehow evade two of them. He's beginning to think luck is a life-saving trait, and his tribute seems to have a lot of luck. Despite it doing her good in the past, however, luck can only take a tribute so far.

Kiara Enygma can't tell whether or not her tribute is faking his actions. He seems to have put full trust and support in the One girl, something that worries her. However, she also feels that it's a good thing, and it helps that the glare shot across the room from Jade Heghes is just so comical for the thirteen-year-old.

Lily Jeng is trying to figure out what her tribute is doing. So far, he hasn't been noticed by much of _anyone_ something that can soon make him boring. The Gamemakers haven't done anything about it yet, though, seeing as there have been deaths every day so far. Will the streak continue though?

Velvet Furse worries that his tribute will be unable to survive any breaking made in his alliance. Sure, Jasper Blue seems like a nice guy, but who can tell with _Careers_? The second the fisher boy realizes he isn't good for a whole lot, will he drop the dead weight? Or will he wait until the right time?

Harvest Summer is infuriated with her tribute. He directly disobeyed her, and nearly got himself killed for it. What if he had died? She'd have lost another one, something she cannot bear. He seems satisfied with his actions though, and he seems like he can now survive a few more days. But why hadn't he listened to her?

Tabitha Shearer's tribute is now the youngest in the Arena, younger than the Eleven girl by several months, in fact, according to Crysta. Despite this fact, however, she is still going strong, her odds better than a few of her competitors. The Capitol loves her, now she needs to hold their favor.

Crysta Rine honestly thought Willow was dead today. She was sad too, because Eleven usually makes at least the Top Ten, but she almost died several days before that's likely to happen. She's still going though, her run taking her where the Careers can't get her for now. Willow _will_ be coming home, she convinces herself.

* * *

 **Placings!**

 **26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **17** **th** **: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male**

* * *

 **Kills!**

 **Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)**

 **Cassia Maurise: 2 (Thorn Ashbury, D11M; Sparky Montgomery, D13M)**

 **Mason Lepodolite: 2 (Tulle Salane, D8F; Keola Foeba, D12F)**

 **Esmeralda Dawn: 2 (Soot Maloy, D12M; Rebelle Rine, D13F)**

 **Darius Line: 1 (Harvest Miller, D9F)**

 **Other: 2 (Marcus Caelum, D1M (Sepsis); Denny Rico, D10M (Jaguar))**

* * *

 **Sponsors!**

 **dreams and desperation: 243 (** ** _Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female_** **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 103 (** ** _Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female_** **)**

 **caitiebug007: 109 (** ** _Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female_** **)**

 **roses burning: 140 (** ** _Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female_** **)**

 **The First Adventuress: 215 (** ** _Aran Quade, District Six Male_** **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 119 (** ** _Logan Woodson, District Seven Male_** **)**

 **Clis2339: 168 (** ** _Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male_** **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56 (** ** _Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male_** **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 196 (** ** _Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female_** **)**

* * *

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers (243 points): Mason (2), Cassia (2) (243,** ** _dreams and desperation_** **), and Esmeralda (4)**

 **Malaran (Araya?) (215 points): Malaya (1), Aran (6) (215,** ** _The First Adventuress_** **)**

 **Brains and Brawn (168 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (168,** ** _Clis2339_** **)**

* * *

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3) (103) (103,** ** _The Fangirl in Pink Jeans_** **)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (249) (109,** ** _catiebug007_** **) (140,** ** _roses burning_** **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7) (119) (119,** ** _JaymanRepublic_** **)**

 **Thanatos (9) (56) (56,** ** _Wolfie McCoy_** **)**

 **Cheyenne (10) (196) (196,** ** _Mystical Pine Forest_** **)**

 **Willow (11)**

* * *

 **Questions!**

 **Which section/character was your favorite?**

 **Least favorite?**

 **Favorite tribute right now?**

 **Least?**

 **Thoughts on the tributes' future?**

 **Who will die next?**

 **Seeing a Victor?**

 **Until next time,**

 **Lord Zagreus**


	34. Arena Luxuries- Day Four

**Here we are with Day 4! This chapter was surprisingly difficult to write, so y'all better enjoy it! Plus I ventured a little ways back into my social life, prolonging my update date.**

 **Ha! Just kidding. I don't have a social life!**

 **Seriously though. It's bad.**

 **JK.**

 **Gosh, just read the chapter, okay?**

 **Unless you don't want to, then don't.**

 **But I will be extremely offended if you don't.**

 **Yes, that was sarcasm.**

 **Mostly.**

 **Reviews!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: I'm glad you liked it! This chapter was a little late though… Thanks for the review!**

 **dreams and desperation: Look. I'll judge if I wanna judge, okay? Okay. Besides, I'd do the exact same thing XD. Thanks for the review!**

 **Clis2339: It very well could be a Career year, I suppose. There are three left, all scorers of ten… They have thirteen opposing them though, so who can tell really? Don't count Devon or Infiniti or Henry or Cheyenne or Willow out yet. Thanks for the review!**

 **Wolfie McCoy: Sorry about your exams! They suck, and I can only imagine what they must be like for your final year! Honestlt, Than hates his mentor. And his deceased Partner. And just about everyone else. Makes him fun to write** **. Thanks for the review!**

 **roses burning: That's the thing with predictions: they either prove to be correct, or they don't. I could predict that- wait. Whatever I write in this story actually does prove true :P. Thanks for the review!**

* * *

Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3

District Three Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I'm surprised at how well I'm honestly doing thus far, but I know that I could potentially be in trouble if I don't find water soon. The five water bottles I got from my pack in the Bloodbath have sustained me thus far, but my last bottle is half empty and my lips are dry. It is because of this that I've left my sanctuary and begun to wander a bit. I suspect the Careers are nowhere nearby and I need this.

I can't help but wonder if it was a good idea to bring my pack. It's a decision that I struggled with this morning, and I'm still doubting myself. While it would very likely have been safe back at camp, there's always the chance a tribute will stumble across it, and what then? I'd lose my supplies _and_ my shelter. However, bringing it with me has certainly slowed me down, and I may have to ditch it should I have to run. I never thought much about the decisions made in the Arena, but I suppose that makes the difference between the Victors and the deceased.

I've made sure to keep the beach in sight, the small stretch of sand and the crash of waves certainly help me with my sense of direction, though I could probably just watch the sun. I'm heading East today, racking my brain as I try to remember what the trainer had said about finding what it is I'm looking for.

Kenzi would have known. My heart pangs for the hundredth time as I recall memories of my former ally. I never saw her in the Arena, and I should perhaps be thankful for that fact. If I had seen her any time before the gong, I likely would have died with her. Had I seen her after, well… I'd have been looking at the corpse of someone who was probably my only friend in the Arena.

I can't help but wonder how she went. Spear? Arrow? Sword? The list is endless, and it doesn't help that I don't even know what was in the Cornucopia. Weapons weren't on my mind those first seconds, not that I could really use one anyway.

I reach down to my belt, where my whip hangs. I haven't really practiced with it yet, and I imagine I'll likely have to soon. Nobody ever has it easy in the Arena, and I grunt in frustration as I'm forced to pull my boots from the mud again with a wet pop.

Mud?

Most of what I've seen in the Arena so far is greenery somehow sprouting from volcanic rock. There's pretty much no dirt whatsoever, let alone mud. But if I've found a substance that's wet…

I march forward, splashing loudly through the mud, but I don't care. I look to my left, and it registers that I've lost the ocean. It's fine, though, water is much better. My socks are beginning to squish around my feet, the liquid so deep that it goes over my boot and halfway up my shins. I'll be wading soon, and the water is cold. I need to figure this out and get out fast.

Then I discover the source to the Arena's freshwater: A massive sinkhole that likely goes several meters down. A… cenote, I think. As far as I know, however, they aren't usually this close to the surface.

I bend down by the rim of the cenote, cupping my hand in the surprisingly clear water. I bring the liquid to my lips, tentatively drinking as small amount as I can. I'm relieved to find that the water isn't salty, nor poisoned as far as I can tell. I'm still alive, and I almost jump in excitement. I quickly pull the bag from my shoulders, awkwardly trying to hold it in one hand while removing the bottles. I want to laugh as I remind myself of my own parents, so busy with a million projects that they can't physically carry all the information.

At last, I decide to drop my supplies a little ways from the edge of the overflow, so in order to fill each of the bottles with less difficulty. I'm forced to make three trips anyway, the water bottles hard to open and hold at the same time.

After an eternity, I'm satisfied. My bottles are filled, a couple drops of iodine in each. I would prefer chlorine tablets, but the blue bag I got didn't have any such thing. I'd better count my blessings, I suppose, and I'm happier than I have been so far. I figure most, if not all, the other tributes must be somewhere along the flow of water coming from the cenote, so I decide to head back to camp instead of exploring further.

I have a water source, one I can hopefully find fairly easily. I have shelter, a source of food. Things are pretty good in the Hunger Games, other than the ever-looming threat of death.

* * *

Jetta Carter, Age 17, District 6

District Six Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I sit quietly as I watch the Three girl pack up her things. I curse myself inwardly for thinking I could leave later, that an early start would have been fruitless. Had I been here, I could have stolen a water bottle or whatever else I wanted from her bag. While I'd feel horrible about robbing this girl at first, I'm sure I'd have gotten over it. Now, however, I won't get the chance.

I sigh, looking over the pool of water the girl just collected from. As much as I want to go dive in headfirst and rink to my throat's content, I know that that wouldn't be advisable. The Three girl may have survived that pool, but who knows what the Gamemakers might have cooked up for me, should I partake? No. I have found the river now, and I will follow it to a place that I feel safer.

The girl vanishes into the trees for the last time, and I wonder if I might have made a mistake. Could I have Allied with her? She had an Ally, if I remember correctly, and she died the first day. We could have helped each other, though I don't really know what I could have done. I stare after her longingly for a moment, before turning back to the river. It's deep here, though the current is slow. I wonder if this is the only water source, and if so, how many of the others have already found it?

I march forward, around the reaches of the pool and to the banks of the river. It's still quite deep, and I move on, following the bends of the liquid mass.

I rub my neck as I stare longingly, and while every fiber in my body screams for a drink, I know I must resist. I'm sweating already from the morning sun, from the closeness of the trees and the sheer distance I walked today. The heat is blistering, and I remember the few seconds I spent on the side of the volcano. I'm certain it's going to erupt, but when, I have no idea. I was overwhelmed that day, stressing over what was to come.

Day Four. That's how long I've lasted so far, outliving ten others, children with lives and dreams. What do I have? A snobby rich-girl's life, filled with everything I could ever want, though I never wanted it. I wish with all my heart that I was home now, but that won't be possible for several more days. As long as I am here, I will have to deal with starvation as I never have before, mixed in with terror and death. A horrible brew from the witches of Panem.

I pause as my foot smacks down into water again. I look up, annoyed, at the banks of the river, overflowed and still. There's another pool here, water gathered from the river and unable to breach the upper lip of the ledge, from which the sound of a crashing waterfall can be heard.

I quickly make my way around the pool, and watch in awe as the geography slopes downward, into a paradise of fruit and drink. The falling water creates a curtain of blue-green as it runs parallel with the eight-meter cliff, a beautiful oasis of gold and emerald.

Cautiously, I make my way down, the oasis calling to me like a song, a song of survival and wealth. I need to get down there, to the fruit and drink that will save my parched throat. To my new source of survival.

There's a small tree hanging over the pool at the base of the falls, and I catch sight of _mangoes_ among the leaves. I catch one with ease, allowing the juices to run down my chin. I sit next to the tree, lying back and simply _enjoying_.

It's from here, on the ground, that I spot something interesting about the cliff behind the waterfall. It appears as though there's a small cave back there, and my heart leaps: shelter!

I smile as I take back all I thought about getting up early. I never would have found this if I had gotten up earlier.

And, for once, I can be selfish and not feel guilty.

* * *

Mason Lepodolite, Age 18, District 2

District Two Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The girls found water yesterday, and like a pack of animals, we have been gradually moving our camp to said river. The work has been excruciatingly slow, as we cannot carry all the weapons at once. I have the four bags slung over my shoulders, my crossbow and sword in either hand while the girls bring one pile of weapons forward, place it on the ground, and then move back for the next pile. We've been at this since we first got up, and only now has the base of the volcano vanished between the trees.

It has occurred to me, more than once, that I could make a break for it right now if I wanted to. I could run while they're distracted, while I have all the supplies and my own weapons. I know I won't though. Running away from allies, away from a fight, is dishonorable. It's not what Annie did. It's not what my family or my District would be proud of, and so I stay, though I'll still grumble about it.

"Remind me again why we can't go any faster." I say aloud as Cassia places another pile by me. She looks up, glaring as she sees me up against a tree, watching. "I mean, don't get me wrong, this is very nice, but I don't see how we're going to get there before dark." I flash her a grin, and she snarls.

"Because you and Mera decided it would be best if we moved things while _you_ stood watch. Because "Malaya or Blue or Nine might show up and attack." She turns away in disgust, off to do more work. I enjoy seeing her anger, her inability to stand against Mera or me. I know it's just a façade, a mask she'll remove when the time is right, something that will take Mera by surprise. But not me, no. I know her tricks, I will not be so easily fooled.

It is several hours before we reach the river, and a little longer to find a nice spot to camp. The spot we choose is quite beautiful; the ground slopes downward to the water, and there's a waterfall, soaring over a cliff to our right. Around the pool below the waterfall, short trees, laden with fruit, hang over the water.

It's about midday, and we've already finished setting up camp, not that there was a lot to set up. As I look around at my allies, I remember again how much we've been diminished over the past week. The boy from Four declared he wouldn't be with us, the One girl ditched in the Bloodbath, and Marcus died yesterday. Already, we're down to three, and there are thirteen out there besides us. While we are still the strongest tributes in the Arena, we are still heavily outnumbered, a fact that leaves me worried.

Not that Marcus was much help. He just went and died, something that is perhaps my fault but I honestly don't really care. He was never going to win anyway, and became dead weight after the Bloodbath. Oh, I'm still angry with the One girl, the Nine boy, but we'll catch them sooner or later, and then I'll have my fun. Cassia's excited to find the Three boy, too. They made fools out of us, and they will pay with their lives.

"Alright, who's going hunting today?" I hear Mera call from the river. I look up, seeing her soaking wet and attempting to dry her hair as she makes her way back. She seems unconcerned about what Cassia and I's answers will be; I know she likely will have already decided.

"Mason and I will go!" Cassia calls back, and I catch her glare at me before returning to her knives.

How am I supposed to keep the alliance together with these two dip wads?

* * *

Aran Quade, Age 17, District 6

District Six Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Malaya decided that I would learn how to use a bow today. I don't understand why; it seems too complicated and I'm sure she spent years honing her skills. Yet here I am, in the middle of a clearing, trying to send the arrows into a vine that hangs between me and a tree. We've been at it for the better part of the day, and I've only nailed it once: my very first shot.

Something's different about Malaya today. She seems happier, more at ease than she had been when I first met her, less burdened since she saved me at the Cornucopia. As she sets another arrow to the string, carefully pulling my arm back and lining up the shot, I have to choke down a laugh. The conversation this morning seems so unreal, so trivial and impossible given our situation.

 _She sets the arrows down by the bag and her javelin, her bow lying across her lap. I recall her falling asleep on my shoulder last night, though she was gone when I woke up. I remember the sly grin that illuminated her face as she came back soon after, a newly filled bottle in hand. "About time you woke up." She said._

 _She has that coy grin now as she looks me up and down. "You know," she says, casually looking down at the weapons she had collected the first day, "I can't do the fighting for the both of us."_

 _I tense as images flash through my mind. Countless tributes, suddenly expended when their usefulness had expired. I instinctively reach into my jacket pocket for the saw knife, a prize from the bag I won. I watch for any betrayal of hostility as I respond. "Okay?"_

 _She laughs. A sweet laugh, laced with humor and astonishment. "Well, I can't very well use both of these at the same time." She gestures to the weapons around her, the smile never leaving. "Besides, I'd rather not leave anything behind."_

 _"What are you saying?"_

 _"Aran Quade of District Six, how would you like to learn how to shoot a bow?" She holds the weapon out to me in both hands, and I take it reluctantly. It feels unnatural, wrong. But she shoves the quiver into my other hand before I can respond, and immediately begins ordering me into "ready position."_

I really don't understand her. Does she actually like me? I wouldn't know, no girl has ever liked me, save Reyna, of course. I'm pretty sure that doesn't count.

What advantage would she have by teaching me to shoot? If I _can't_ , she'd be able to kill be in an instant. She still could, I suppose, with that javelin. But I could shoot back? She's a _Career_. She trained for this for the better part of her life. Surely, she understands that we can't possibly _both_ win. Has she gone mad? She _did_ just find out that her Partner died…

I cannot let her distract me. I need to get home for Reyna.

"Remember to keep both eyes open. Keep your target to your left side. I want your forearm flush with the arrow. Don't let the string slide off your fingers. Stay still as you release." She's begun to repeat her tips now, though she doesn't seem to be getting frustrated yet. I feel a grunt escape my lips as I send off another arrow with a quiet _twang_. This one lands itself in the tree again, along with eight of the others. They're grouped rather well around the vine, yet I still can't _hit it_.

"Great! We have two more, you can hit it, come on!" She appears at my side again as I go through the motions, plucking an arrow from the quiver, setting it to the bow, taking my stance. She checks over my form before she nods, stepping behind me. I had joked earlier about her being afraid of my aim, though I understand the safety measure now.

"You can do this." I whisper under my breath. I draw back, lining up my shot, about thirty-five yards away. I feel my breathing slow, my chest rising as I breathe deeply. Calmly, I release it, and with it goes the arrow. There's a shredding sound, before the _thunck_ of metal burying itself in wood.

Malaya runs forward, examining the vine before proclaiming, "You did it! Now, one more time, and we'll stop for the day."

She's flashing her teeth as she grins excitedly, and I look back in disbelief. I actually did it! If I did it once, I can do it again.

I go through the motions, lining up the target and breathing deeply. I feel my breath bouncing off the arrow, anchored in the corner of my mouth, as I let it out, I imagine the arrow going where I want it to as I prepare to release.

I'm startled suddenly as a bird shrieks from nearby, and I jump, the arrow speeding past the tree and into the darkness. I look around quickly, and find Malaya clutching her stomach as she _laughs_.

"Alright, I think that was enough for today. You get the others out of the tree, I'll go look for your stray." She says, wiping her eyes. "You can come join me when you're done." She winks before she disappears, and I shake my head as she goes. Definitely unexpected.

I only just start to walk toward the hole-y tree when a scream of pain and terror shatters the jungle. I freeze at the sound, looking in the direction my ally had just gone.

Without thinking, I grab Malaya's javelin and break for the trees.

* * *

Jasper Blue, Age 16, District 4

District Four Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Henry and I are walking through the trees when the sound of misplaced air reaches my ears. I hit the ground as it grows loud, before my hearing is penetrated by the unmistakable sound of an arrow striking a tree. I survey my surroundings before standing, and when I see no other sign of danger, I look for Henry. He's standing frozen, looking at the silver shaft sticking out of a trunk three feet in front of him.

I rush toward my ally, toward the thing that could very well have killed one of us just now. Ripping the projectile out, I look at the Eight boy, thinking. I feel panic rise in my chest as I remember who all used a bow in training. The girls from One and Ten, though the Ten girl truly sucked and wouldn't have survived as she retrieved one anyway. No, this is a Career's arrow.

I swivel my head in the direction the arrow came from, gripping the shaft of my spear tightly. I look at Henry, who seems to have come to the same conclusion. He's unsure of what to do, I can tell. He has no weapon, no way of defending himself. He's looking to me for guidance, but there's nothing I can say or do to assure him of anything.

I can't let him die. Not here. Not to _them_.

"What are we gonna do, Blue?" He asks, panic filling his voice. He could survive without me, for a time. He's my brother here. Family I never had.

" _You_ are going to hide." I gesture to some thick bushes a little ways away. When they get here, a moving target will be the most desirable. If I run for it, drawing them away…

"No." He says, backing away from the underbrush. "I won't leave you. I can't"

"Henry." I say, taking a step forward. I pause as crashing sounds ring the air, and I know we're out of time. "I'm sorry." I lunge at him, shoving him backward. As the shadows and foliage envelop him, I give a salute, a symbol of farewell in Four. An honorable sendoff.

I run toward the crashing, throwing myself against a tree as I crouch down, spear lying flat on the ground. The crashing stops as a pair of legs appears, and I don't hesitate, striking out at the person's thigh before they realize I'm here.

There's a shrill scream, and I roll out into the clearing, brandishing my weapon at my foes. But there's only one. A girl, with fiery orange hair. The One girl. She collapses to the ground as the wound becomes too much to bear, looking up at me in horror.

"Where're the rest of them?" I ask her angrily, looking around at the shadows. An invisible enemy is the most dangerous one, the hardest to predict or counter. "Where are your _friends_?"

She takes on a brave face, yet is unable to hide the grimace as she spits out, "I'm alone. Left them the first day." She tries to crawl back a pace, but her hand flies to her side as another scream threatens to tear her throat.

I step forward. "Oh yeah? Where's your bow, if you're so _alone_?" I level my spear at her, the tip aimed at her face.

"Target practice." She explains calmly. "I missed, and came looking for the arrow. I left the bow behind. Didn't think I'd need it." She looks behind me, and relief softens her features. I feel bile in my throat as another voice breaks the air.

"Blue?" I turn around, and to my horror, I see Henry, standing in fear. He's giving me a hunted look, and I quickly see why. The Six boy has him in a headlock, knife pressed against his throat.

"Step away from the girl." He says, looking me in the eye. "Leave here and you can take him with you. Nobody needs to die today." I glare at him, but know there's nothing I can do. He's standing perfectly behind the younger boy, so that any throw I made would injure or kill my ally. Not that a throw in such close quarters is all that smart anyway. The javelin lying under Six's foot only shoves me deeper into my box.

I step back, the Six boy and I watching every move the other makes as I do, before he seems satisfied and drops the knife, releasing Henry. He quickly retrieves the javelin and sprints to the fallen girl. "Malaya! Malaya, are you alright?" He seems more panicked than he was moments ago, sitting beside the One girl.

They stand slowly, Six glaring at me as he supports his ally's weight. They slowly make their way back into the trees, in the direction they had appeared from earlier. He never looks away from me, and as shadow claims their figures I can still feel his eyes on me, waiting for a sign. A betrayal of any act I might have conceived.

After I'm sure they're gone, I turn to Henry, who is examining the blade that nearly ended his life. He seems shocked, and I understand. We don't have time to talk about it though. We need to get out of here.

I take him by the wrist and drag him in the opposite direction of One and Six. He comes with little resistance, to my relief. When we finally stop and reassess ourselves, one question begins to nag at the back of my mind.

How did we get through that unscathed?

* * *

Darius Line, Age 17, District 5

District Five Male, Sixth Quarter

* * *

I haven't moved much today, something that is probably unwise but I don't really care. I've had no desire to leave my current spot. Granted, I have had no desire to do much of anything.

I'm on the bank of a river, something that I suspect most, if not all, of the living tributes have found themselves nearby by now. I haven't found any food as of yet, not that I'm looking. I have water. That in and of itself can sustain me for a while.

No cannons have rung today, and I can't help but feel conflicted about it. On the one hand, nobody else has died, suffering the fate of ten others. Nobody new has taken a life, though I suspect I am the only outlier to do so. On the other hand, I am a day deeper and no closer to going home. I want so bad to be back now, it amazes me. It's like some strange fantasy: familiar but tantalizingly out of reach. The thought of killing another shouldn't hurt this much, but she was so young. Too young. If I recall correctly, nine of the remaining sixteen tributes are my age or older.

If I were to go home, seven others will have their lives cut short before they really began. I wouldn't mind killing any of the Careers. I wouldn't think twice about killing the girl from Three or the Sixes. Dev, I'd feel bad about, but I'm sure she'd respect me. The little boy from Thirteen though? The Twelve girl? Eleven? The girl from _Nine_?

And even if I were to go home, what would come of it? Her brother, a _Victor_ , would likely kill me. I mean, he likely would have done something similar in my situation, but.

No, he wouldn't. Wheat Miller, like nearly every other Victor before and after him, won with _honor_. How could I kill a defenseless young girl, whom really had no chance? So what if she scored a nine in training? She didn't deserve to die. It's not her fault she was here. And now she's dead.

"Why me?" I groan, bringing my knees up to my chest, head folding down. "I don't wanna be here."

I'm brought back from my misery as a slight, metallic beeping rings through the air. I look up, shielding my eyes as the fading sunlight reflects into my eyes from the parachute, a gift from Matt. Sponsored by the Capitol. I almost want to wad it up and burn it, but a curiosity overcomes me as it drifts down, landing silently next to me.

I open it cautiously, the small container sparking hope in my chest. A sign from the outside world. That I'm not alone.

Inside, I find myself in possession of a bag of jerky, which honestly won't last me long, but I can find food before it runs out. Below it, folded neatly, is a note. I carefully unfold it, reading the short message as the jungle becomes pure darkness.

 _Don't let her sacrifice be in vain. -Matt_

* * *

 **Placings!**

 **26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **17** **th** **: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male**

* * *

 **Kills!**

 **Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)**

 **Cassia Lyra Maurise: 2 (Thorn Ashbury, D11M; Sparky Montgomery, D13M)**

 **Mason Lepodolite: 2 (Tulle Salane, D8F; Keola Foeba, D12F)**

 **Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn: 2 (Soot Maloy, D12M; Rebelle Sunflower Rine, D13F)**

 **Darius Line: 1 (Harvest Miller, D9F)**

 **Other: 2 (Marcus Caelum, D1M (Sepsis); Denny Rico, D10M (Jaguar))**

* * *

 **Sponsors!**

 **dreams and desperation: 254 (** ** _Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female_** **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 111 (** ** _Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female_** **)**

 **caitiebug007: 117 (** ** _Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female_** **)**

 **roses burning: 151 (** ** _Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female_** **)**

 **The First Adventuress: 223 (** ** _Aran Quade, District Six Male_** **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 127 (** ** _Logan Woodson, District Seven Male_** **)**

 **Clis2339: 179 (** ** _Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male_** **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 67 (** ** _Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male_** **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 207 (** ** _Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female_** **)**

* * *

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers (254 points): Mason (2), Cassia (2) (254,** ** _dreams and desperation_** **), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Malaran (Araya?) (223 points): Malaya (1), Aran (6) (223,** ** _The First Adventuress_** **)**

 **Brains and Brawn (179 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (179,** ** _Clis2339_** **).**

* * *

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3) (111) (111,** ** _The Fangirl in Pink Jeans_** **)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (268) (117,** ** _catiebug007_** **) (151,** ** _roses burning_** **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7) (127) (127,** ** _JaymanRepublic_** **)**

 **Thanatos (9) (67) (67,** ** _Wolfie McCoy_** **)**

 **Cheyenne (10) (207) (207,** ** _Mystical Pine Forest_** **)**

 **Willow (11)**

* * *

 **Questions!**

 **Thoughts on today's events?**

 **Who do you think we'll hear from next?**

 **Favorite POV?**

 **Least favorite?**

 **I mentioned** _ **Luxuries**_ **in the story title. There's (at least) one in each POV. How many can you find and name?**

 **If you could ask me any question, knowing I would answer honestly, what would your question be?**


	35. Rough all Over- Day Four Recap

**Recap Day 4! Yay!**

 **Reviews!**

 **Keep. Calm. And. Love. Hamilton: First off, the Fanfiction website won't let me put your username in the story XD! Second, welcome to the story! I'm glad you've found enjoyment in it, it's been a blast to write! Thanks so much for the review!**

 **dreams and desperation: Three songs, huh? Hm… Well, number one is, of course, "Evermore" by Dan Stevens. (Yes, I'm obsessed with Beauty and the Beast, deal ;)) Two, I think, is "Letters from Home" by John Michael Montgomery, and then "I'm still Standing" (Taron Egerton version, from Sing. I was obsessed with it after I broke my leg a few months ago) Thanks for the review!**

 **Clis2339: I'm going to go head and say you got all of them, as you listed more than I had originally anticipated. Of course, I asked you what ones you could find, and they all make sense to me. Dang, I was hoping for the personal questions ;). Thanks for the review!**

 **roses burning: I'm sorry to hear you're ill, that sucks! You sure made me laugh at the "babes" part lol. I'm afraid I cannot answer your question in a way you might have wanted, but I do have an answer of sorts. Other authors on here, truly great ones, are my inspiration. My readers, my reviewers, you are all my encouragement to be better, faster, more… passionate. It is the slight pressure and the desire to be the best I can be that keeps me, well,** _ **going**_ **. Thanks for the review!**

 **And speaking of, thank you guys so much for _200_ reviews! That's more than I could hope for, and we're still going!**

 **One of these District sections took a turn even** _ **I**_ **was not expecting. You've been warned.**

* * *

 _District One_

 _Malaya Garnet, 17_

* * *

District One thought for sure that Malaya was going to die today. She was at the mercy of the Four boy- he could have ended her, as quickly as any other tribute would have in that situation. It is for this reason that the people in the Luxury District were surprised to see the Six boy come to her rescue, to threaten the life of a fellow outlier to protect a Career. Since Marcus' death, many are beginning to back the boy, and today's events only solidified their support.

Together, the two tributes have bound Malaya's leg, using some vines to tie their black tarp to the wound. It doesn't seem as though the spear hit anything very important; already the blood has begun to stop flowing and has begun to scab over. It may be a few days, but with Aran caring for her, Malaya should be up and moving again soon.

As can be expected, Beryl and Cietrin Garnet are in honest disbelief at the day's events. Both knew the Games were dangerous, but they had figured the rewards were worth the risk. Now that their own daughter had such a close encounter with death… their spirits have sunk as they've realized the real price of survival.

* * *

 _District Two_

 _Cassia Lyra Maurise, 18_

 _Mason Lepodolite, 18_

* * *

Everyone in District Two is on the edge of their seats for two reasons: One, the Four girl is bound to snap soon, and then their tributes won't have any competition. Two, the Careers have camped _so close_ to the Six girl, they're bound to find her soon. They can smell the blood, hear the distant screams, pleading to end it, just end it. Yes, things are looking good in Two, another Victory practically under their belts.

Cassia is guarding the camp tonight, though Two knows there's nothing she has to watch for. She plays with her knives mostly, a trademark weapon of Two. Since the Seventy-Fourth, when their best knife-thrower in their history went into the Games, that weapon was branded alongside the Two name, to their pride and honor. Mason too uses a Two's weapon, though swords can be just as easily used by Ones or Fours or even Sevens and Thirteens.

Mason's contempt toward his allies is of no concern to his parents, who know that he'll be able to finish off whatever's left of Cassia and Mera when the Alliance splits. Their only worry is that the pack may split early, lowering Mason's chances. Cassia's parents are of different mind, of course, hoping the pack splits sooner rather than later, though there's really no reason to worry as of yet.

* * *

 _District Three_

 _Infiniti Reagan, 17_

 _Cordin Bolt, 16_

* * *

Infiniti finding water today was of great relief to District Three, and while the Six girl looked like she might have tried something, Fin still possesses her supplies and resources. Cordin followed the river today, finding the cliff where the fresh Arena water drops into the ocean. While Three's team sits at opposite ends of the only water source, they are well supplied and should last a couple more days. Then again, District Ten probably thought the same thing of their tributes, and now one is fallen.

Fin has fashioned a hammock for herself, and is more than comfortable as she delves into whatever that thing is that she caught in her snares today. The Capitol is beginning to use her comfort as an advertisement, to pacify the "District Rights" activists in the Capitol, as much as the people in the Districts. Cordin is sitting pretty as well, fairly well supplied and watching the less-terrifying darkness around him.

Both families on the Thrones worry that the Gamemakers might get bored with their children or siblings. Fin's family almost wishes for something to happen, something to make her seem like a real contender without getting her killed. Cordin's family is holding on to the hope that enough action will occur elsewhere in the Arena to distract from his meanderings.

* * *

 _District Four_

 _Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn, 18_

 _Jasper Blue, 16_

* * *

Things were pretty intense in Four today, to say the least. On the one hand, you had Esmeralda and the Careers camping enticingly close to another tribute, mixing a sense of glorious death into the air. On the other, you had the near-fatal collision between the two smaller Alliances, one of which Blue is part of. It's a shame he didn't kill the One girl, but at least he and his ally are still in the running.

The duo has been talking about the craziness since it first happened, and while Blue might have been a little frustrated with the younger boy, he has found that his distraction may have saved the fisher boy's life. Mera has been unable to sleep thus far, keeping one eye open as she listens to Cassia stalking around camp. She tenses as she nears, her fingers gripping her sword, and only relaxes slightly as the sounds fade away.

The girl's family just wants her to kill them the next chance she gets. After they're gone, the rest of the competition has no chance. Alas, she cannot hear their silent pleas, and resort to just watching, waiting. Blue's parents are still recovering from the close encounter, though at least their collective breathing rate has slowed a little.

* * *

 _District Five_

 _Devon Cynthia Rose, 17_

 _Darius Line, 17_

* * *

The Sponsor gift sent to Darius today was a surprise to Five; the boy wasn't that impressive of a tribute, but perhaps his mentor was able to pull a few strings. He seems a little more lighthearted now, having wandered around since he received his package. Devon has yet to do much, which is good yet worrisome; while she may be a few kilometers from the nearest tribute, she still may be forced into the path of another.

Now, however, she's sleeping on the beach, curled up in her poncho around her knives. She's held them like a lifeline since her first encounter with the Two girl, and for good reason. She knows that danger can strike at any moment here. Darius is also asleep, though he's tossing and turning as he lies there. He's not holding onto his supplies like Dev, but what can you expect, really?

Gio and Elliot are on Dev's Throne again, though people in the Capitol wish little Ori was there with them. They watch the screens, looking to make sure none of the tributes nor the Gamemakers are moving in on their friend. Not that they could do anything, but it feels good to stand in support. Darius' mother felt a true spark of hope as Darius' gift drifted down, and the flame, though dim, is really starting to shine.

* * *

 _District Six_

 _Jetta Carter, 17_

 _Aran Quade, 17_

* * *

Day Four was the first time since the Bloodbath that either of the tributes from Six saw another tribute (not including Malaya), and are honestly amazed that they're both relatively okay. Aran has shown genuine concern for his ally, having made sure her wound got covered until they could find something more suitable. Jetta has been watching the Careers' camp since they showed up by her little oasis, though she can't seem to formulate any plans.

Even now, the thin girl doesn't dare leave her cave, for fear of being caught. While she has some food stockpiled at the moment, a dozen mangoes only last so long. She knows she'll have to make a move, but she seems unable to. On the other side of the Arena, Aran has insisted on keeping watch, that Malaya needs her sleep. She reluctantly agreed, and once again the boy may be in for a near-restless night.

Reyna screamed during the standoff, sure that her brother was about to take a life for the first time. He managed not to, however, though she still wants to scold him for his threats, despite how laughable that sounds. Jetta's parents went on an emotional rollercoaster today, first in joy at their daughter finding water and then in fear at the Careers finding her hiding spot. They know that the next couple days could determine Jetta's fate.

* * *

 _District Seven_

 _Logan Woodson, 16_

* * *

District Seven wasn't as worried about Logan today, especially after the little skirmish between the boys from Four, Six, Eight and the girl from One. He hasn't moved a whole lot, not that any particular move would leave him more vulnerable. He's a long ways from any of the others, from any dangers they might pose. They didn't move much either, save for the Careers, who were busy most of the day looking for a place to camp.

By this point, he, like all the others, has run out of Capitol-provided food. Evidently, however, the surplus of fruits and small animals in the Arena was meant to make up for the certain lack of food. Being a child of Seven, he has thus far been fed well, and has been drinking well from the nearby river. So long as the Careers don't find him tomorrow, he should be fine then too.

Logan's family wasn't on the Throne for most of the day, Jake and William looking for support for their brother and son, Lena swiping some of the cash they'd collected for more beer. She had declared that morning that things were getting boring and to not bother her until his "worthless hide" was dead as Kenzi. It was a miracle she had stayed sober up until this point, to be honest.

* * *

 _District Eight_

 _Henry Reynoso, 14_

* * *

After Henry's traumatic day, the two boys found a fairly nice place to lie low for a few days. A cave, hidden beneath a fallen log at the base of a tree, has plenty of space for the small Alliance to live in comfort without getting in the other' personal space. They haven't spoken a whole lot since running in to Aran and Malaya, other than Henry explaining how he had come back despite Blue's insistence.

He's still shaken even now, and the two are sitting on opposite sides of the cave, awkwardly silent. Henry has refused to go to sleep, afraid of everything suddenly, and Blue seems worried he might ditch in the middle of the night. Henry cannot convince him otherwise, however, and therefore doesn't speak, afraid of irritating his ally.

Tragedy hit the Reynoso family today, something unforeseen by people in the Capitol and Eight. Sonia Mathers Reynoso, at the age of 71, died of a heart attack as Henry was held hostage. His sisters, though not as close to her as Henry, are devastated, and can only imagine how Henry might take the news should he return home. It was so unexpected, so sudden; she was perfectly healthy.

* * *

 _District Nine_

 _Thanatos Rize, 15_

* * *

District Nine might have thought Thanatos would have taken the advice his mentor had given him on Day Three, but _no_. He _had_ to follow them, staying out of sight but close enough so that his binoculars were useless, eating the last half of his jerky and finding himself in an unfamiliar area. Though he followed the Careers all the way to their new camp, he's at least had the sense to retreat to the volcano.

Now he's asleep, sitting up against a mangrove at the base of the mountain. If he has half a brain, he'll return to the river soon. If not, his death will be slow and terrible, something Nine doesn't want to have to watch again. It happens often enough, but this Arena doesn't give any reason for tributes to be killed by anything other than another tribute. Or the lava. Or the jaguar. Or infection.

Aoife Rize continues to stand alone, though she tried to convince her parents to change their minds earlier in the day. They refused of course, claiming that they have "no right to stand within ten feet of the Throne. The tribute is not my child." After that, of course, they brushed her away so they could continue their meeting, followed by four hours of prayer to the gods watching over Nine.

* * *

 _District Ten_

 _Cheyenne Bruno, 13_

* * *

Cheyenne gathered for the majority of Day Four, even sang a little under her breath as she climbed the trees and collected water. She seems to have… not exactly _gotten over_ the death of her ally, not that Ten has either, but she is, at least, pushing through it and onward. She seems much more focused, levelheaded.

Currently, she's trying to figure out what exactly the small canister she got in her bag is. She can't figure out how to open it, can't twist it, nothing. According to the experts in the Capitol, what she has is a low-powered bomb. One which, when dented in any way, shape or form would blow a hole in anything within one to two feet of the initial blast, and push back anything within six. She seems to understand the potential danger though, and hasn't attempted anything crazy yet.

Vivian and Charles Bruno feel unable to wait any longer. Like any other parent whose child has entered the Arena, they just want that child back. Sitting back and watching and pretending to enjoy it, knowing that in all reality there's nothing that they can do, is the ultimate torture. With each passing day Cheyenne's odds increase and decrease, a rollercoaster of uncertainty.

* * *

 _District Eleven_

 _Willow Orchids, 13_

* * *

Willow explored the area around her camp for the majority of the day, having been forced into it at the Careers' appearance yesterday. She has, however, managed to find another high tree, one with thick branches several meters above the black stone, big enough to hold her weight and not force her to be balancing constantly. She can easily rest upon it at night, though it's much more precarious than her old one.

As she sits in her tree tonight, she examines the small glass vial she found in her pack on Day One. The deep purple swirling around within the container is a poison, as she's suspected, but she can't decide on what best to do with it. She has no weapon to coat it in, nobody whom she might feed that would trust her. Like the girl from Ten, she too has the trial of figuring out how to use the bomb she unwittingly nabbed.

Back in Eleven, Asher and Mint are praying that something happens again tomorrow as it did today, something to distract the nation's attention and leave Willow free for another day. They know it's only so long before she'll have to go on the offensive, but action elsewhere will prolong the inevitable encounter. Their sister comes first, before the health and lives of the other tributes and their families.

* * *

 _Capitol_

* * *

At Games Control, Mars Viking is on top of the world. The ratings from today's fight soared over 41,000- that is, 41,000 households tuned into the Games around the country- which is only 11,000 less than the initial Bloodbath. If he can keep this up, his first Quell might be a bigger success than any of his predecessors. Unlike them, he might be able to orchestrate a second one before the end of his career.

Deep in the brothels of the Lower Capitol, a took to the streets for all of about seven minutes, District Eight fanatics certain that the Gamemakers had somehow choreographed the meeting of the two Alliances, as well as the certain death of the Eight boy. It was quickly silenced, however, especially once the Six boy and the girl from One disappeared back into the darkness. They'll wait in the shadows, for now.

In general, the Capitol has clearly already selected a few favorite tributes, ones that they would love to have on the Victor's Throne. Of course, nobody can remember the last time they really didn't like the lone survivor *cough* Johanna Mason *cough cough*, but they would certainly love if one of their chosen champions would come out Victorious. Not to mention the prestige and money they can earn when their bets pay off.

* * *

 _Control Center_

* * *

Jade Heghes is in absolute shock. Her tribute nearly died today, ambushed by a tribute from a Career District and then rescued by an outlier. She wants to be ashamed, wants to show that Kiara girl that it doesn't mean anything, but the gasp of surprise and muttered curse have already forced her pride down her throat.

Moara Slater is sick and tired of fighting with the other Career Mentors. Jacob tries to help, but he's just a horrible person, and Halibut has the _nerve_ to call Moara a traitor. To her face. To say things are strained among them is an understatement, and Moara suspects their tributes are somehow mimicking their actions.

Jacob Gold wishes the others would see the Game for what it is: a game. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. If the others want to fight over it though, he _will_ sit back and enjoy it. And he can't help but look smug when his tribute is going to win, _Halibut_.

Ingrid Relbot could never express her relief at Infiniti's day in words. Her tribute has found water, has a _marvelous_ camp set up, and is seemingly safe from the other tributes. Besides, the Careers haven't gotten a parachute yet, something which the bickering of their Mentors has no doubt directly influenced.

Matrix Volt can do literally nothing for his tribute right now. Sure, he could send food or a weapon, but what does he truly need right now? There's no way of telling, as he has what he currently needs and there's no hint as to what the future might hold. The Games are a gamble, but Matrix isn't willing to go all-in yet.

 _Just a few more days._ Halibut Odair continuously reminds himself at this point. _Just a few more days and I don't have to deal with her_. Moara Slater is a disgrace to all Victors. Thomas Jackson, _my_ protégé and former tribute, could have beaten her with one hand behind his back. The backstabbing little-

To say Kinzie Wrasse is disappointed in her tribute is a severe understatement. Jasper could have killed the girl, could have left the Eight boy to die. Not only would it have removed the burden of two more tributes from his shoulders, it would have allowed Kinzie to rid herself of having to work with the _stupidity_ that is Velvet Furze.

Fosca Beralia needs a break. Like every year, she'd take a bullet for her tribute, but this time the screaming and exchange of curses and throwing of chairs has become almost too much to bear. With Cecelia and Gloss' tributes fallen, their fights are more constant, especially during the action of the day. And, of course, there's the Career Mentors. This is going to be a long year.

Matt Electrode is excited at the sudden burst of will Darius has shown since his sponsor gift arrived. Sure, should he live, he'll live with the crushing guilt of having outlived and/or killed twenty-five others, but every Victor has to deal with that. Whether or not they're affected by it is beside the point.

Railer Playne can't help but wonder how much longer Jetta can survive. Sure, she had a lucky break today, but the appearance of the Careers is sure to get her killed eventually. The only way out of her oasis is to get past their camp, and they have a watch posted at all times. Things aren't looking so good, but hey, anything can happen.

Kiara Enygma isn't sure she's been more proud of a tribute before. Aran charged into danger without a second thought, defending his ally even though it put his own life at risk. To top it all, none of the involved actually died. While another death would certainly help Aran's chances, Kiara knows people in the Capitol will find his actions "charming," if it's even possible for charm to make an appearance in the Arena.

Lily Jeng's tribute needs to _do something_. She can't do anything to help him unless she has the funds, and wandering around doesn't exactly lure in Sponsors. His ability to sit around and do absolutely nothing is admirable, however. Lily knows that, in his place, she'd have to be constantly busy, keeping her focus on her final goal: Victory.

Velvet Furze was almost certain he was going to lose his tribute today. It made sense; he was being held by the Six boy, a hostage in a Game where killing is a good thing. He looked to Kiara Enygma during the ordeal, and she refused to meet his eyes. One could imagine his relief when Henry somehow got away clean.

Harvest Summer is infuriated with her tribute, and understandably so. Thanatos Rize can't seem to comprehend the fact that her advice is what helps keeps tributes _alive_. _She's_ the one who's survived this, the one who's seen nearly seventy Games, one of them being a Quell. _She_ helped another survive the atrocity that is the Arena. Wheat Miller wasn't nearly as insufferable.

Tabitha Shearer continues to be excited at the prospect of having her first ever Victor. Sure, it's only the Top Sixteen, but it's been a long time since Tabitha had a tribute as promising as Cheyenne Bruno. Even the condescending 150-year-old Austin Bean isn't enough to dampen her spirits. She can taste it, the satisfaction and pride she's been searching for for thirty-two years.

Crysta Rine feels the need to send her tribute something soon, something to keep her alive, to give her some way of defending herself in a fight. Her poison is useless, she can't figure out the bomb- she needs something she can use, yet somehow tailored to her. The road ahead will be long and hard, and the thirteen-year-old could certainly use something to aid her in her journey.

* * *

 **Placings!**

 **26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **17** **th** **: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male**

* * *

 **Kills!**

 **Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)**

 **Cassia Lyra Maurise: 2 (Thorn Ashbury, D11M; Sparky Montgomery, D13M)**

 **Mason Lepodolite: 2 (Tulle Salane, D8F; Keola Foeba, D12F)**

 **Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn: 2 (Soot Maloy, D12M; Rebelle Sunflower Rine, D13F)**

 **Darius Line: 1 (Harvest Miller, D9F)**

 **Other: 2 (Marcus Caelum, D1M (Sepsis); Denny Rico, D10M (Jaguar))**

* * *

 **Sponsors!**

 **dreams and desperation: 246 (** ** _Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female_** **)**

 **The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 103 (** ** _Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female_** **)**

 **caitiebug007: 109 (** ** _Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female_** **)**

 **roses burning: 157 (** ** _Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female_** **)**

 **The First Adventuress: 218 (** ** _Aran Quade, District Six Male_** **)**

 **JaymanRepublic: 119 (** ** _Logan Woodson, District Seven Male_** **)**

 **Clis2339: 191 (** ** _Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male_** **)**

 **Wolfie McCoy: 56 (** ** _Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male_** **)**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: 196 (** ** _Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female_** **)**

* * *

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers (246 points): Mason (2), Cassia (2) (246,** ** _dreams and desperation_** **), and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Malaran (Araya?) (215 points): Malaya (1), Aran (6) (218,** ** _The First Adventuress_** **)**

 **Brains and Brawn (191 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (191,** ** _Clis2339_** **).**

* * *

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3) (103) (103,** ** _The Fangirl in Pink Jeans_** **)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5) (266) (109,** ** _catiebug007_** **) (157,** ** _roses burning_** **)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7) (119) (119,** ** _JaymanRepublic_** **)**

 **Thanatos (9) (56) (56,** ** _Wolfie McCoy_** **)**

 **Cheyenne (10) (196) (196,** ** _Mystical Pine Forest_** **)**

 **Willow (11)**

* * *

 **Questions!**

 **Favorite section?**

 **Predictions for Day Five?**

 **Any fun vacations and such coming up?**

 **Anything else?**

 **Until next time!**


	36. Grey Skies- Day Five

**Day 5!**

 **Reviews!:**

 **SparkHat: Well, I'm glad you're reading, I suppose… XD. I hope you enjoy the parts of the story you've yet to meet, and I'm excited to hear your feedback!**

 **Clis2339: I'm not sure that that would necessarily be "funny," though perhaps you meant "interesting" or "coincidental." I am sorry to hear about your grandmother though, and I didn't know Sonia was going to pass until I'd already written it! Thanks for the review, though!**

 **dreams and desperation: Yeah, it really was. Thanks for the review!**

 **TranscendentElvenRanger: "Well-written"? Thank you! While they can be a pain, I feel they're necessary in the end. And that despite the blood covering my keyboard, I know I will continue to do them. Thanks for the review!**

 **roses burning: A cruise? That's fantastic! First you go to Hawaii without me, and now you go on a cruise without me? Shameful… My parents also went on a cruise earlier this summer, though they didn't take me then either. Thanks for the review!**

 **Also, I'd like to advertise for some stories really fast. On my profile I have a couple tributes whose stories need more tributes (Julian and Daphne), but Daphne's only has 3 left! GO submit if you can!**

 **Also, a story I haven't yet submitted to needs submissions:** _ **No One Laughs Last**_ **by** _ **TheyAlwaysUseADagger.**_ **I plan on submitting to the boys from Three and Thirteen, so don't take them! ;)**

 **If you want me to advertise for your story, let me know, preferably through PM. Only 249.99 per word. ;)**

 **Also, I just want to warn you (for a future chapter, of course) about the fact that I will NOT be warning you about any horridness I write during the Games. For one thing, it's the Games, and if you thought you might come across mutilation and be disgusted by it, you wouldn't be here. For another, it might spoil the fact that there's a death that chapter, something I cannot allow.**

* * *

Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8

District Eight Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _He's here, I can feel it._

 _He will haunt me throughout my time in this awful place, I know. He blames me for what is to happen, though it isn't my fault, I don't think. "An eye for an eye," he whispers in the dark, "a friend for a friend." The whispers become a chant, louder and louder as a chorus of voices rise up alongside his own, drowning out my cries for help, my desperate attempt to escape. The voices grow to a crescendo, howling as they tell him to kill me, that I deserve it. Cold rips through my soul as the darkness invades like a virus, destroying what once was and replacing it with something I don't like._

 _A sudden and blinding light breaks through the black, and a lance of lightning streaks toward me like a dart, the sound of thunder following closely alongside it. I collapse to my knees, and the deafening roar is followed by a terrible shriek as cold liquid splatters over my back-_

I jerk awake, shaken by the nightmare and blanketed in cold sweat. I shake the drowsiness from my eyes quickly, looking around the cave for Blue. I catch sight of him in the exact same position he was in when we went to bed, lying on a raised platform of black stone as the water level rose below him.

Except there wasn't any water here last night. It was dry, safe. We never would have hidden here if we thought otherwise.

Everything clicks as I realize what's going on. The water in the lower part of the cave is about a foot deep, flowing up to where I had been sleeping, which explains why my back is soaking wet. I look to the cave opening, where water, ice-cold and perhaps fresh from the sky, is honestly pouring in. I know we're much lower than the surrounding area; if we stay here much longer, the surrounding area will prevent us from leaving.

I get to my feet, though I'm forced to crouch with the low ceiling. I throw the pack on, my back stinging slightly as my soaked undershirt presses deep into my skin. I ignore it as I wade into the water, my boots dipping deep enough for the frigidness to flood them. By the time I reach my ally, my teeth are gritted and I feel like ice.

I can't prevent myself from tripping as another wave sloshes through, and he wakes quickly, fumbling for his spear as he rolls into the water. He comes up sputtering, his face contorted in shock. He looks up at me for a moment, soaked and freezing, before getting up and making his way to the exit. I follow as quickly as I can, though I'm mostly trying to not fall. The water has nearly reached my torso, and the light in the small room fades out momentarily as Blue pushes through the small opening.

I take a deep breath as I plunge through the small gap, trying my best to hurry before my nerves freeze from the cold. My head goes under, and I begin to panic when I'm jerked to a stop. I can't see, but I can feel the water surging around me, the pack on my shoulders, the-

I'm running out of air, I can feel it. My body, or my bag, is snagged on something, and I'm starting to feel lightheaded. Unable to think straight, panic flows through my cells, and I begin to flail wildly. I almost scream as I feel something grasp my arm, but then I realize that it must be help. I grab the person's wrist, sure it must be Blue. Who else would help me?

Finally, my brain just can't take it anymore. As I feel myself tug free, the already black of the flow seems to grow darker, the overwhelming cold fading away…

* * *

Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10

District Ten Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The Gamemakers can't seem to make up their minds today. When I first woke up, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Soon after the sunlight began to grow warm, however, heavy rain began pouring over the Arena. Now, it's barely sprinkling. I don't know what they were trying to achieve with the inconsistent weather patterns, but I'm not sure it's working; no cannons have sounded. Yet.

No cannons sounded yesterday either, and while that's normal in any Hunger Games, I guess the Capitol must have been bored. It was the first day without death, and possibly without conflict to my knowledge. Maybe they planned on drowning a tribute earlier, or driving some of them together. Couldn't have been me though. I've been given no reason to leave as of yet, and the former downpour is only getting lighter.

Come to think of it, it may have been a warning.

I'll have to keep on my toes, not that I wasn't doing that already. I don't know where the closest tributes are, or how far away I may be. If the Capitol or the Gamemakers are already growing bored, anything can strike at any given time.

The ground is still covered in a couple inches of water, though it's really not that effective in terms of slowing me down. I can't find a place to rest though, unwilling to get any wetter than I already am. The boots are waterproof thankfully, so at least my feet are dry. The rest of me hasn't been so fortunate, though the sheer heat of the jungle is quickly warming me up. I'm not going to be dying from hypothermia anytime soon, but being wet is annoying.

It's hard to believe how… _alone_ I feel here. I haven't seen hide nor hair of anyone else since… Day Two. Since everything went downhill. And now, I'm alone, in the Top Sixteen, and I have no idea how long I'll be here or whether or not I'll even go home. This is all so stupid.

Already, I have changed so much. The only people I ever talked to before the Games are all dead now, leaving me with fifteen others whom I've never spoken to, nor would likely care about my death. Save, I suppose, for Willow from Eleven. Or the boy from Eight, whose name I honestly can't remember. At this point, however, I think they're the only ones I'd feel a pang of regret over, should I see their faces in the sky one of these nights. The three of us are so close in age, such a young age… I'd feel it, at least.

The older tributes, evidently, I wouldn't care so much about. Or maybe it's because the One boy was a Career. I didn't feel anything for him two nights ago; I just shrugged it off and went to sleep. I didn't wonder how he might have died, for he deserved it, whatever it was. Besides, it couldn't have been as painful or horrendous as losing Denny had been.

Who, if anybody, will die today? If the Gamemakers _are_ , in fact, trying to drive some tributes together, what kind of confrontation will they be looking for? No, what kind of question is that? Blood, of course, and lots of it. Pain, suffering. So, the unlucky tribute is being taken to the Careers. Or, maybe, the boy from Nine, who scored a Nine in training. Could be taking him to the Pack too, I suppose.

So, in all likelihood, today's death(s) will consist of a tribute from Three, the Four boy, either of the Fives or Sixes, the boys from Seven or Eight, or Willow. If the Nine boy dies, one of the Careers might go with him, and then it could be any of the four of them, though I think it'd be the One girl. Not that I have any way of knowing, of course.

I groan as I feel the rain grow heavier, the fat drops pounding against the hood of my poncho. I understand why they gave us these now; for this day. I suspect tomorrow will be worse, so I should probably find some sort of shelter before the end of the day. Perhaps I can look further into the metal canister I picked up in the Bloodbath.

I look around, thankful that the rain cannot come down in thick sheets due to the overbearing jungle canopy, and instead comes down in small chutes of water, falling from leaf to leaf before touching the ground. One particular tree near me, I realize, has a massive wall of white hovering beside it, the leaves positioned in a way that anything below them, behind the wide tubes of water, can comfortably sit on the tree limb, only a couple thin slits leaving them visible to the outside world. I examine the holes carefully, making sure to not approach the tree until I am certain that the small, incredibly unlikely shelter is, in fact, vacant. I have no reason to believe otherwise, so I plunge in.

I am almost overwhelmed by the sheer cold, stinging my face and sliding down my torso, but in an instant, it's over. Still in the water, I jump up, against the current and onto the massive branch, pulling my feet away until they're free of the water. I hug my knees to my chest, shivering slightly. I realize now that while the poncho is nearly waterproof, the pants my stylist gave me are anything but.

I would leave, try and get warm, but I have no chance to at the moment. My mind refuses to let me jump back through the freezing sheet, my arms and legs shakily agreeing. I'm going to have to wait until the rain stops, or at least slows.

Sighing, I carefully slip the bag off my shoulders, retrieving the metal object I spent a majority of yesterday trying to figure out.

At the moment, I have all the time in the world. Until this rain gives me an opportunity, I'm going to have to use this fortunate, or unfortunate time wisely.

* * *

Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

District Seven Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I've always hated rain. It soaks you to the bone, makes equipment unusable, and just makes life miserable overall. I should probably be used to it, growing up in a place like Seven, but I hate it all the same. Marching through the torrent, hefting axes and logs and trying to not slip and break a neck. Even in the Arena, the horrible weather refuses to leave me be. My hammock is waterlogged, and while I don't necessarily need it for the time being, I _had_ gotten used to lying there in peace day to day.

At least it's relatively dry here underneath it, I suppose. I've been sitting on the branch about ten feet below it ever since I had given up on getting the water out of it, resolving to wait the storm out. The only con about my current position is the rivers of ice flowing down the tree and, by extension, my back. The poncho may keep us dry, but it doesn't do much to fend off the cold.

I'm in the final Sixteen, in the Hunger Games. The thought is somehow surprising, knowing how little I've had to do thus far to get here. I've outlived a Career, my District Partner, two whole Districts, and others. All I've done is survive the Bloodbath and set up that blasted hammock. I haven't seen another tribute since before the cannons first began to sound.

It's very difficult to imagine myself making it back home. While I likely have the skill for it, it's just not exactly… realistic. Already, what I had thought would be strong competitors this year are already gone, such as the boys from One and Eleven and even the girls from Nine and Thirteen. Heck, even Kenzi is dead, and the Capitol loved her.

My stomach knots itself again as the thought of my District Partner surfaces. She was the only other tribute I spoke to, the only one who's hopes and dreams I understood. Just a few days ago, she had smashed Interview Night, destroyed my suit on the Chariot. Now she's another of over 3500 deaths, caused by the Arena and the Gamemakers and the Capitol. A mere ant, something to be stepped on. And I very well could be next.

I groan as more raindrops begin to fall against my hood, and I carefully look up at the annoyance. My hammock, or my shelter at this point, has begun to overfill again. Time to empty it.

Quickly, I turn myself to face the trunk of the tree, and begin to ascend. The climbing is slow-going with the rain slickening the tree and my frozen fingers, so it actually takes me well over a minute to climb the whole ten feet. I straddle the branch below it, pushing my bag, which I had left strung up with it for the time being, out of the way. I'm about to flip the tarp when voices ring through the air.

"Are you sure we need to be out today?" A girl asks, "The others will all be hiding from the weather, how could we find them exactly?" I turn slowly toward the voice, my heart beginning to beat fast. I curse the Gamemakers as I realize that the rain has ceased for a moment, no doubt to more easily catch my reaction to the Career girls being so close, and so that they might find me since looking up is no longer a problem. I hug the tree as the Four girl explains.

"Yes, which will make cornering them _so_ much simpler. Remember the Eleven girl? She got away because she either saw us coming, or got extremely lucky. If we catch some tribute in their cave or something, they won't be able to escape." Both of them laugh as they pass under my tree, and my petrified body begs for relief from all the tension. Just a few more steps…

I nearly fall in fear when a sound like thunder breaks the air. I whip my head around, and find that, to my horror, the overfilled tarp has ripped almost cleanly in two. And, as though that weren't enough, the water crashes loudly to the ground, and my backpack slips from the knot I used to tie it to the now useless hammock.

I reach out desperately, everything seeming to move more slowly as the bag, my supplies, freefalls through the air. I see my outstretched hand moving toward it, my fingers slowly wrapping around one of the straps. The momentum nearly sends me over the edge, but I lean back as my senses return to me. I throw the bag on my shoulders, breathing a sigh of relief.

A sudden pain, however, makes me scream. I look down at my right leg, where a long and thin line of red replaces the cloth around my shin. I catch sight of the Two girl again, who is preparing to cast another knife. The Four girl stands by, holding a sword menacingly.

I don't hesitate, climbing higher so that I might escape the Two girl's range. I flinch as another weapon embeds itself in the tree next to my left hand, but I keep climbing, until I'm deep in the jungle canopy. I must be seventy feet up, but that doesn't deter the Careers. My heart leaps into my throat again as I realize that they're coming up, less than twenty feet below me.

My head turns in a frenzy, my mind working at a hundred miles an hour to find an escape, a way to survive. Vines? No, I might be too heavy. Going down is not an option. I almost smile as I catch sight of another mangrove, its limbs intermingling with the branches of the tree I'm currently in. Taking a deep breath and hoping for luck, I scramble across the wooden bridge, refusing to look back until I've made it safely to the other side.

One of the girls is blocking the other side of the bridge, whilst the other one is quickly climbing back down.

I begin to make my way down, hoping to race the Career, when a voice calls out from above me, "Mera, he's coming down! Hurry!" I look over to see that the Four girl is still a good ten feet below me, and I know I must speed up. In this race, it's win or die, and I don't like the idea of the latter. As I feel my feet touch ground, I sprint as fast as I can, refusing to look back once again.

* * *

Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1

District One Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

An ambush. I'd have never thought that that would be the way I died, though I suppose I'm not exactly dead yet. Aran saw to that, and has continued to care for me since the incident. He refuses to let me do anything, which is incredibly irritating. The Four boy didn't even score a good hit; it's not like this is going to kill me. He was more terrified in that moment than determined.

Until he had me down. Weak. Then Aran shows up, apparently circling the area when he found the Eight boy. I honestly didn't think he had it in him. The look in his eyes screamed for blood, and for a moment there I thought he was actually going to do it. Nobody died though, and I suppose that's good as it means I'm alive with an ally.

The Six boy has a fire going, his poncho and undershirt suspended over it so as to keep the fire going and perhaps dry the soaked clothing in the meantime. Our tarp, black and waterproof, hangs over me like a dark cloud, keeping me out of the rain while my ally suffers through the cold without a shirt on. I wonder if he is used to such conditions, from back in Six. He seldom talks about his home to me anyway, save for small mentions of his sister.

He keeps looking between our fire and me. It seems like he's thinking about how exactly the conversation, which perhaps would have been better discussed _yesterday_ , should start. I've been thinking too, but I don't know exactly what I should be thinking.

He risked his life for me, but he's the competition. _I'm_ his competition, another obstacle between himself and Reyna. He could have let me die, then killed the boys from Four and Eight while they were distracted. He could be in the top half right now, and yet he still managed to save me and spare the others.

One way or another, at least one of us will die. I'm just not sure who I'd prefer to have go home.

I try to stretch out my legs, but hiss in pain as the makeshift-bandage around my thigh tightens. I pray in silence that Aran didn't notice, but naturally, he just so _happened_ to have glanced at me at that _precise moment_. I look away from his face, his expression filled with concern, then kick myself as I hear him walk over. I scoot myself out of the way as he takes a seat beside me, and I want to laugh as the heavy raindrops smacking against the tarp cease. The Gamemakers want to hear what happens, as usual.

"You okay?" He asks, glancing down at my leg.

"Peachy." I say, a sarcastic smirk contorting my face. "I'm near-helpless in this darned Arena, and _I'm_ supposed to be the one taking out the helpless." I suppress a groan as I shift again to look at him better.

He smiles slightly at that, which surprises me. He takes a deep breath, and I know this is it. "Malaya, where exactly are we planning on going with this?" He asks, looking at me. The words replay themselves over and over in my head, and I remember a hundred tributes in a hundred Games asking the same thing.

"Normally," I begin, laughing slightly, "an Alliance would go until one tribute outlives their usefulness. And while that'd be my go-to answer, it isn't exactly the smartest line of thought in my current position." He smiles, then mirrors my laugh, though it's perhaps a little more genuine. The tension is beginning to wear thin, to my relief.

"That's not exactly what I was going for." He responds thoughtfully, looking away for a moment. "But, would you say, like, Top Ten? Eight? Four? Until the end? All that may be a long way away, but it might be best to start thinking about it now." He looks away sheepishly, and I understand why. This is all under the assumption that we even make it that far, and while there's still a chance, it's still not very big.

"Aran, chances are we won't even-"

"But what if we do? What then?" He persists, and I just look at him.

"Then I guess we do as we're told. All promises and memories and debts no longer exist; we fight it out until only one remains." I answer at last, blinking slowly.

"So until the very end?"

"Until the very end." I repeat.

We're both jolted from our thoughts as an unnatural electronic sound breaks the air. The rain has yet to proceed, and Aran hurries out to our camp to investigate. He returns with the parachute, sitting down beside me as he rips the package away from the cloth. Carefully, he opens the container, and we both eagerly look inside.

A single fabric bandage, several feet in length, as well as a tube of ointment for cuts. Aran looks at me as I quickly move to untie the vine and the small square cut from the tarp (which took forever, by the way, as Aran lost the knife yesterday), and yanks the package away as I reach for the supplies.

"Allow me." He says, kneeling down beside me as he squeezes some shimmery blue liquid onto his forefinger. It stings slightly as he massages the wound, and I look back down at the metal canister as I try to not scream. I cock my head slightly as I catch a flash of white peeking out, and I reach in out of curiosity. Aran doesn't notice my movement, too focused on dressing my leg to care. I recognize the small slip of paper as a note, often a tribute's only connection to the outside world. It can also tell us who sent it.

I'm surprised when I flip it over and read what it says. While I had been expecting some discouragement from Jade to stay with Aran much longer, what I find is completely different.

 _Until the very end. –Kiara._

* * *

Willow Orchids, Age 13, District 11

District Eleven Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Five days. I've been in the Arena for five days. How exactly anyone my age can endure such terror- and trauma- is honestly beyond me. And winning? I might determine that Victory is impossible for someone like me, if it weren't for the thirteen others that have won in the past seventy years. Granted, six of them were trained in some way or another. None of the others were from Eleven, making our youngest Orchus, at fourteen. The fact that I'm still breathing is beyond my comprehension.

On top of all this, it's freaking raining. It's almost as though the Gamemakers are trying to make us miserable. Or as if they're trying to kill someone. Wait a second. The whole reason we're here is to die.

I haven't dared return to the place I saw the Careers. For all I know, they could have seen me, which I suspect they had, and might be watching the area for any sign of me. No, I refuse to die.

Already, I've somewhat acquainted myself with this new section of jungle I've found myself in, and I've found a small animal trail that leads down to the water. I had found myself a tree to stay in during the day, but I don't think it's safe to be that high up with everything being so slick. The rocks and terrain down here aren't very comfortable, but I'll have to make do. I'd rather not die yet.

The weather has been off and on all day, and I can't help but wonder how no cannons have sounded. It seems like there might have been some close calls, but there's still sixteen of us here. What are they playing at?

I freeze when an unnatural sound breaks through the sound of pounding rain against the hood of my poncho. I slowly look around for a moment, before my heart leaps as I recognize the sharp beep of a parachute. I scan the sky for it, and almost cry out in surprise when it drifts right past my head. I scramble forward, attempting and failing to catch it before it hits the ground. I lift it gingerly before finding the clasp, pulling it open quickly.

I can't help being slightly disappointed when I find nothing more than the note and a pocket knife. The blade can't be much more than two inches long, the willow handle about twice as long as the metal. Not very flashy or useful, especially in open combat, but I suppose I could slit someone's throat with it.

I shudder at the thought of blood flowing profusely out of another person's neck, something seen all too often in the Games.

I shove the knife in my pocket, and I finally think on what this all means. I have Sponsors! Not many, but I _do_ have _some_ people rooting for me! That must count for something. I reach back in to the package, pulling out the single piece of paper, already soaked through from the rain.

 _Everything's a weapon. -Crysta_

* * *

Devon Rose, Age 17, District 5

District Five Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

If I didn't know any better, I'd think that the rain is causing the sea level to slowly crawl up my beach. But the ocean is massive, or so I had learned, and thus a day's worth of rain shouldn't give me any reason to worry. Then again, I used to be able to take twelve to eighteen strides at different points of the day to get down to the water. Today, it's only five to seven, with and without the tide.

I think I'll wait until tomorrow though, hold off moving or whatever until I'm completely certain. I'll move a little farther inland though, just in case.

The river, which is a very long ways from my camp, has also swelled to massive size. By tomorrow, I wouldn't be surprised if it actually outgrew its banks, provided the rain continues. The Capitol might be growing bored though, so the downpour could potentially only get worse. It is, after all, the fifth day of the Games, and nobody has died yet today, nor did anybody yesterday. The Gamemakers might be trying to drive the tributes together, which they technically could do with a Feast of some sort. The way they think is beyond me, honestly.

I look up into the west, where the sun had disappeared over an hour ago. I hate to think of what its rays could bring tomorrow, what death and torment and terror. For now, though, all I see is the seal of Panem, the words of the anthem like a sadistic chant over the Arena.

 _The Horn of Plenty-_

 _The Horn of Plenty overflows!_

 _Panem shall raise above-_

 _Panem shall reign above-_

 _May our nation never fall, again._

 _The Horn of Plenty overflows!_

The seal disappears, replaced by the words _Day Five: No Deaths._ I breathe a shaky sigh as the message hovers for a moment, before the seal shows itself once more, before vanishing for the final time today.

What will it bring tomorrow?

* * *

 **Placings!**

 **26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **17** **th** **: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male**

* * *

 **Kills!**

 **Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)**

 **Cassia Lyra Maurise: 2 (Thorn Ashbury, D11M; Sparky Montgomery, D13M)**

 **Mason Lepodolite: 2 (Tulle Salane, D8F; Keola Foeba, D12F)**

 **Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn: 2 (Soot Maloy, D12M; Rebelle Sunflower Rine, D13F)**

 **Darius Line: 1 (Harvest Miller, D9F)**

 **Other: 2 (Marcus Caelum, D1M (Sepsis); Denny Rico, D10M (Jaguar))**

* * *

 **YES I DON'T HAVE THE POINTS HERE. THIS IS BECAUSE I'M CONSIDERING ABOLISHING THEM AND GIVING THE PEOPLE THE FREEDOM THEY DESERVE WHEN IT COMES TO SPONSORING TRIBUTES. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.**

* * *

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers: Mason (2), Cassia (2) and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Malaran (Araya?): Malaya (1), and Aran (6)**

 **Brains and Brawn: Blue (4), and Henry (8)**

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7)**

 **Thanatos (9)**

 **Cheyenne (10)**

 **Willow (11)**

* * *

 **Questions!**

 **Thoughts on the chapter?**

 **Favorite POV?**

 **Least?**

 **Thoughts on my Sponsoring idea?**

 **What is going to go down?**

* * *

 **Until next time,**

 **Lord Z**


	37. Deeper Thoughts- Day Five Recap

**Ha, I'm back, suckers! Sorry this took so long, it's taken me forever and I got a new job and went on a weeklong camping trip in the Uintas.**

 **Reviews!**

 **roses burning: I'm going to go ahead and say "probably not." I've never been much good at fitting into other peoples' luggage, and they usually freak when I remove their stuff in order to remedy that** **. It's fine, though, I'll manage. Thanks for the review!**

 **dreams and desperation: I'm glad you liked them, I knew I had to have them in the Games when I read their forms! Thanks for the reviews!**

 **Clis2339: Well, I think the Sponsor system is officially going XD. Thanks for the praise, and the review!**

 **So peoples, exciting news: I have a tribute in my** _ **The Survivors**_ **section on my profile! You have no idea how happy I am right now! Go Bellona!**

 **I have officially stopped the Points System. Sponsoring is, of course, still open!**

* * *

Gwen Heghes, Age 28, District 1

District One Javelin instructor

* * *

I'm not sure at this point whether I should be worried or happy for Malaya. Easily my best pupil ever, she certainly has what it takes to win, but if she allows that Six boy to distract her, well… Every relationship formed in the Arena has ended in death, and she knows that. I'll just have to hope she can put her health before her heart when the time comes.

It's been strange, training others to fight and win, while Malaya is doing what these kids can only _dream_ of. They're alright when it comes to their workouts, though already I have seen half my class drop out. Malaya was determined to train in two different weapons, and while it stole a choice from another potential tribute, she did it well. It's difficult to look at these ten-year-olds and imagine any of them being half the trainee she was. Malaya, who always showed up to practices early. Malaya, who gave it her all until she was vomiting all over the concrete floor. Malaya, who would bare her teeth and make the others wet themselves.

I sigh as my assistant, Jerakuo, hands me another folder, no doubt filled with resignation forms. As a rule, any instructor can start the class with any number of students, and the worst must be dropped or exchanged. If the child or their parent decides it necessary, they may drop when they wish. The class must continue until either everyone drops or the final charge ages out. Malaya was my only student for four years, the greatest in my first batch of children. How can I go back from this?

* * *

Alexis Thunder, Age 17, District Two

Friend of Cassia Lyra Maurise

* * *

"You won't play the Game like her, will you?" My father asks me for the hundredth time as he gestures to the screen. I know he's talking about Cass again, how she's done nothing but argue with her two allies since the beginning of the Games. I sigh as I answer him the same way I always do; with all the conviction I can force.

"Of course not! I can't be _that_ stupid!" I'm not looking at him, but I imagine him nodding in satisfaction, turning back to the broadcast of the Hunger Games. I think again of my friend, whose life could end any second at this stage in the Game. I try not to cry, not in front of my prideful father, though it's a close thing.

I'm not afraid of the Games, no sir. I just don't understand how people can be so obsessed with them. Just because he was beaten to the stage by a thirteen-year-old in the One-Twenty-Sixth. Because his youngest brother, Hades, also managed to win the Hunger Games. The Thunders have been neck deep in this thing ever since it started, since Breccia won. Every Thunder trains, for fear of being disowned, our face and name burned from the tapestry of our entire lineage, quite literally. My aunt Cleo, Hades' wife, sews new faces to the cloth whenever a new one appears, creating a grand panorama that encircles Breccia's old living room. Just yesterday, my younger brother Typhon dropped out of javelin training, and he's only still there because he managed to pick up knife-fighting so fast.

Breccia. Juno. Rage. Hades. The four elite. The only Victors our family has ever produced. But there are others, those who died and are barely mentioned. Cato. Victoria. My aunt Shepuo. My cousin Merder, only last year. Still part of the family, though Shepuo's early death managed to get _her_ erased, alongside her brother Darius, who only wanted to be a Peacekeeper. Do I dare fail?

* * *

Nero Lepodolite, Age 47, District 2

Father of Mason Lepodolite

* * *

It's almost too crazy, the thought of having two children as Victors. There has, thus far, been only one pair of sibling Victors, that Gloss and Cashmere Xerces from One. District Two is the Capitol's champion District, however, and I'm excited for the honors that will be bestowed upon me for the wonderful children, the stellar _Victors_ that I have created. I will be remembered like no other before me, my name down in the history books of this great District and greater nation. I will be immortal.

Mason has done well these past few days, though I daresay he won't make much more kills than his sister. Annie might have had four, but she was rejected by the other Careers the first day, though she killed one of them in the Bloodbath. Mason has to share his kills with the others, as is common courtesy in the Games. In the first few minutes, you kill who you can until there is nobody left. After that, the Pack hunts them down together, taking turns in the dispatch. While this year's Pack is relatively smaller than normal, they haven't made a kill outside of the Bloodbath yet.

I must say, though, Mason has my eye for flair. Sure, the Eight girl may have been slightly boring, bloodless, but the Twelve girl, well… I can't remember the last time a tribute through another so far. Mason is easily the strongest competitor this year in many ways, and _I_ am the man behind his greatness. He _will_ win, and then the others will look at me in jealousy, envy.

* * *

Bo Chips, Age 18, District 3

Friend of Infiniti Reagan

* * *

The District seems empty and cold without Fin here to brighten it up. It's almost as difficult to watch her in the Arena, living day to day unaware of just how much her absence has impacted me. I'm sure Laci feels the same, but I have basically refused to face her, or much of anybody else, really. I should technically be at work, but I've had no desire whatsoever to walk outside, to see the people who don't care about Fin or who she is as they go about their normal lives. I should have said more to her. Shouldn't have left as though it would be the last time I saw her alive. Did she see that kiss as me not believing in her?

I guess my boss at the factory must understand why I'm gone, or my termination documents simply haven't arrived yet. Not that it really matters. Does she think of me, of what might have been, here on the other side? What might have played out, had her name been in there one less time? I should have Volunteered, for that sixteen-year-old who's somehow managed to survive this long. We could have been allies, I could have protected her, died for her. I was still eligible; I've aged out now. My friends all wanted me to come to the parties and such they were throwing, but I don't deserve to be there. I could have done so much, but my own fear allowed me to watch her walk away. She looked so beautiful, so brave. I should have said more-

But perhaps I said enough. I told her we'd send her something. I've got some work to do.

* * *

Tabby Bolt, Age 13, District 3

Sister of Cordin Bolt

* * *

I had begun to hope that we'd all be okay. That none of us would go to that horrible place, that we'd all age out before the Capitol so much as looked at our family. That seemed unlikely at first, when Binary aged out and Gadge was sixteen and Cordin was my age. Then Gadge aged out at my first Reaping, and my hope began to grow. That's what you get for hoping in Panem, I suppose.

Or maybe hope is a good thing. Our tributes seldom last long, and as the final half approaches, you can tell that there's a different feel in the District. We still have both tributes, alive, uninjured, supplied. Cordin hasn't seemed to have lost faith in himself yet, and I've heard rumors of Sponsorships increasing ever since he robbed the Careers. They're not super popular this year, apparently, other than the Capitolites who think that only Careers should win Quells. If I remember correctly, only one has, and he was already a Victor before. The betting for the outer Districts, especially Three, Five and Six, the only outer Districts that haven't lost a tribute, must be intense. I don't really know how it works, but it should be okay.

Gadge has become almost unbearable the past few days. He seems just so happy, and I even caught him talking in his room with some of his friends about how his younger brother would die. I threatened to tell mom, but he didn't seem to care. I haven't told her yet, but I suspect she knows, with how he talks at the table and stuff. I don't understand how you could bet against your own District in something as horrible as the Games, let alone your own _brother_.

* * *

Keira Morx, Age 18, District 4

Friend of Esmeralda Annalise Dawn

* * *

I still can't believe I had been _Reaped_. I remember Orca telling me about it at one point, when he wasn't submerged in his alcohol, and even then he had to take a few sips before starting the story. I knew what he felt every step of the way- the sinking feeling in my stomach, the wonder of hundreds of eyes staring straight at me, the sudden thoughts of despair and doom. The only difference? I was Volunteered for, and Orca was thirteen.

I can hear him a lot in the front room, screaming at the TV as Mera is mentioned as the "Four girl." He cries out for me, and I can hear him rearrange the room out of anger and grief. It is after these episodes that I reveal myself to him, as he resorts to tears, and I begin to calm my older brother like a child. It's strange, comforting a man six years my senior, who I loved and respected for so many years. Of course, I've been caring for him since I was seven, so I suppose I'm used to it.

I wonder at this point as to what exactly Mera's plan is. I mean, she's been the designated Volunteer for a while, she knew she was going in. We stopped doing our extracurriculars because she was so focused on her darned training. I'm pretty sure the aim of the game isn't to argue with your allies, however, and if she's not careful, she'll die. Then I'll be stuck taking care of Orc all by myself, comforting my grief-stricken brother as I try to handle my own. On my own.

* * *

Tycho Kelp, Age 18, District 4

Archenemy of Jasper Blue

* * *

I really hope that pipsqueak dies in that Arena. I wish I could be there in that case, so that I might smack that stupid smirk off his face as he bleeds out, crying in pain. The best I'll get though is burning down his casket at his funeral. Stupid Capitol. Stupid rules.

He stole my glory. _My glory_. What even the heck am I supposed to do now? I trained my whole life for the Games; he's been training for three years. My father is a Victor; his father is probably some lowlife fisherman who couldn't afford to raise his son. He certainly looks the part: ragged clothes, long beard, flecked with grey. The guy practically screams _poor_.

I was gonna kill that stupid _boy_ in the Justice Building, but his pretty little girlfriend- Coraline- told the Peacekeepers to keep _me_ out. Nobody keeps me out of anything! I'm the eldest son of _Foam Kelp,_ the Victor of the One-Hundred-Twentieth Hunger Games! I'm practically a _god_ around here! _I_ deserved the Victor's crown, not that imbecile! _I_ deserved the honor of playing the Game as a _Career_. His stupid ally is from _Eight_ , of all places. What kind of sick plan is that?

I'll never get the chance now. He beat me to the stage, and the next time I _might_ be eligible is the Seventh Quell. The chances of that are either very high or very low; there hasn't been a Quell where people outside the Victors' circle and the Reaping ages have been eligible. We could either be quite overdue, or it's never going to happen. I'll be in my forties by that point. It's not really going to happen, is it? I suppose I could have a child in seven years who may be eligible…

* * *

Alma Rose, Age 43, District 5

Mother of Devon Cynthia Rose

* * *

A mother should never kick her child from her life- I know that now. Some may say that none of this is my fault, but I know it is. They would assure me that growing up in my mother's household, one where only perfection mattered, is what gave me the mindset of the perfect family. That we can't be blamed for what our parents did to us.

But I _am_ to blame. _I_ had the choice, not Devon. Not my sweet child, whose life had had its ups and downs since the day she was born. My child who took what she was given, for better or worse, and held her chin high. My child, who might be dead in a matter of days. I could have done better, I could have held her closer, done something when that Peacekeeper began to look at her in that way. Oh yes, I noticed; always patrolling our street when she was home or school was going to get out. The friendly face so full of anger and resentment. A man disowned by his own family, for wishing to not participate in the Hunger Games. I let this happen. It's all my fault.

Dev has done incredibly well thus far, though I worry how well she can hold up against the might of the Arena. I suspect the rain will force a tribute confrontation, and while my daughter is very far from the others, there's no telling what will happen come morning. The Gamemakers, like Darius Thunder, can be deceptive and dangerous. Should Devon best them, they'll break her slowly, then force her to live with the aftermath. They're an evil people, the Capitol and the Twos. We used to be a family of Districts, but I suppose some, like myself, unfortunately, have their priorities backward.

* * *

Minerva Dove, Age 31, Capitol

Secretary of President Snow

* * *

I should get paid triple for the time I spend behind my stupid desk during the Games. Papers are coming in constantly from all corners of the Capitol, about suggestions and complaints and all other forms of crap. The only joys of my day are from the regulars, with the same crap as every year.

 _Mister President,_

 _We ask to know what exactly you plan to do to allow the Games to be more fair. While the number of Victors for each gender are about even, it's hard to ignore that the female Victors begin the Games at a disadvantage, forced to fight harder than any man can ever imagine. We have some ideas, of course, to remedy the situation:_

Then always, there's a list of ideas, more notes, a threat last year, and the signature. Today, it's signed with:

 _Bellona Juliere,_

 _Head of Panem's Fight for Female Equality_

The first time such a letter showed up, I of course was new to the position and showed the note to the President immediately. Naturally, he was in the middle of making out with his third wife and would have had my head if I had barged in and interrupted him. Now, I have no choice but to handle things myself, though there have honestly been no problems that made it past the front gate. The Peacekeeping Corps is very effective, after all.

Other than the funny ones from _Panem's Fight for Female Equality_ and a few spam messages, everything I get is quickly read, filled out, and sent. Very little is of interest to me, not when I could be back at home in my apartment, watching the Games. Heck, I'm not even allowed to have a TV anywhere near me, for the sake of the fact that I might get "distracted." I wouldn't know anything about what's going on in the Games if it weren't for my coworkers making small comments as they pass me, or the Capitolist complaints when someone's betting money gets sucked down the drain with the death of a tribute. Not that I'm as invested in the Games as some of the others, but it _would_ be nice to know what the rest of the nation is seeing.

Three more years, and I can finally be eligible for a pay raise. Then, maybe, I can afford more than a frozen pizza once a week.

* * *

 **Don't worry, we'll be seeing the rest of the tributes' familial/friendly/other relationships in two chapters.**

* * *

 **Placings!**

 **26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **17** **th** **: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male**

* * *

 **Kills!**

 **Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)**

 **Cassia Lyra Maurise: 2 (Thorn Ashbury, D11M; Sparky Montgomery, D13M)**

 **Mason Lepodolite: 2 (Tulle Salane, D8F; Keola Foeba, D12F)**

 **Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn: 2 (Soot Maloy, D12M; Rebelle Sunflower Rine, D13F)**

 **Darius Line: 1 (Harvest Miller, D9F)**

 **Other: 2 (Marcus Caelum, D1M (Sepsis); Denny Rico, D10M (Jaguar))**

* * *

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers: Mason (2), Cassia (2) and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Malaran (Araya?): Malaya (1), and Aran (6)**

 **Brains and Brawn: Blue (4), and Henry (8)**

* * *

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Jetta (6)**

 **Logan (7)**

 **Thanatos (9)**

 **Cheyenne (10)**

 **Willow (11)**

* * *

 **Questions!**

 **What did you think of the new format?**

 **See any interesting connections? (Hint- Alexis and Alma's POVs)**

 **Thoughts on the future (Day 6)?**

 **Predictions?**

 **Favorite POV?**

 **Anything else?**

 **Until Day Six,**

 **Z**


	38. Raindrops On My Head- Day Six

**Aaaaaaaaand here we are with Day Six! I told myself that even calculus and physics homework could step aside for a couple hours, and thus I took my newly found spare time to finish a chapter!**

 **Reviews!**

 **Wolfie McCoy: Oh, I plan on keeping up with this SYOT, all 60+ chapters of it. Don't you worry; all these tributes will die. Or win. Whichever.**

 **dreams and desperation: Thanks!**

 **Sorry again for disappearing for a while last time, but you know how it goes.**

* * *

Thanatos Rize, Age 15, District 9

District Nine Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

The rain has continued to grow miserable, turning the Arena into a sloppy mess of invisible holes and tree roots. I've been hiking most of the night, sure that the Gamemakers will push another tribute into my path, where I might be able to kill them and get more Sponsors. I'm banking on the idea that the Capitol would have wanted me to kill the One boy, and that their disappointment will force the Gamemakers' hand.

I can't believe nothing has happened since my run-in with the boys from One and Two. Since the One boy's face lit up the sky, no cannons have gone off, which leads me to believe that the rain is here to assist in getting someone killed. Hence the reason I've been wandering all night, slipping over the slick stone and winded as though I've hiked the tallest mountain in Panem. I almost look the part too, I'm sure, using my scythe as a walking stick. I either look terrifying or hilarious, though I hope it's the former.

The Games should be farther along by now. I mean, usually we're in the top half by this point, if not even farther. In a normal year, at least one tribute dies each day, up until the Top Thirteen, when the elite in the Capitol party over their bets and their potential Victors. Normally, everyone's safe the day the thirteenth tribute falls, save for the kid who took fourteenth, of course. Interesting fact, especially if you make it that far…

The ground has been constantly growing lighter, though it hasn't helped much in some ways. There are still long shadows, hiding divots and undergrowth, the water more than soaked through my boots by this point. The cold water is seeping into my bones, sapping my strength and energy. Everything is wet; my socks, boots, even my undershirt. The stupid poncho is useless at this point, though I don't dare ditch it quite yet. It may be useful.

I sigh as I find myself, once again, at the base of the volcano, easily the largest, and perhaps only, landmark seen from above the Arena. I could have trekked the entire Arena during my wanderings, but somehow I continuously find myself here. I look to the top, where steam is curling in thick clouds around the Cornucopia, a place where eight foolish tributes lied down their lives on the first day here. I wonder, for a moment, how my Partner died; surely, she wasn't as stupid as the rest of them?

I shake my head. No, she _was_ foolish. If she wasn't, she wouldn't have died, and then I'd have another opponent to worry about. She matched my score in training, she must have had some kind of secret up her sleeve. She died here somewhere, likely before she managed to get a weapon. The Careers surely cut her down before she had the chance to do anything to maim them; she was brave. Stupid, but brave. At least I didn't have to kill her; it would be awkward if Wheat and I lived next to each other when I had killed his sister.

I look up the mountainside again, at the steam and the cooling rivers of lava that originally separated many of the tributes before the Games began. I wonder if any of the Careers threw or pushed the others into the flows, or it they preferred their weapons over the nature provided for them. Either way, lava is heat, and perhaps another tribute is thinking that way. I could ambush them.

I take a step forward, pushing against every instinct of _run_ that screams its way through my body. The water layer is extremely thin here, though one misstep could still send me sliding down to the base. The wind and rain whip around me, and I try to pull my clothes tighter around me with my free hand, my scythe continuing to work as my walking assistant. I try to look ahead, to my destination, but the cold stings my eyes. It was so much easier in the shelter of the jungle, I realize, where the wind wasn't a problem, and the water was truly only an inconvenience. I turn to look back, realizing that I'm just past the pedestals.

I freeze as the dull thud of a cannon rings through the early morning air.

Before my mind can comprehend it, I'm hurtling toward the launch platforms, my weapon momentarily forgotten as my arms reach out, trying to protect or catch me before I slam in to something. I tumble head over feet, nearly crying out in pain as my ankles slam into one of the pads. I sit there for a moment, breathing, ice stinging my face as I stare up in to the sky. I sit up quickly, looking around in desperation. I hear the sound of metal sliding against stone through the howl of the wind, and I spot a flash of silver in the new morning light.

I take a deep breath, and lunge for my fallen weapon.

* * *

Jetta Carter, Age 17, District 6

District Six Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Nobody should feel the amount of fear I have felt since I arrived here yesterday. It literally hadn't been much more than an hour when they showed up, declaring that _this_ would be where they would set up camp. That they'd likely be sticking here for the remainder of the Games.

I haven't dared to leave the shelter of this cave, not with the everlasting threat of the Careers. I had thought only a couple days ago that I'd never feel such terror again, that that was the closest I'd ever get to death's door.

Clearly, I was wrong.

I've had plenty to drink, and I quickly became grateful for harvesting so many mangoes the moment I got over my euphoria. They're almost gone now, of course, but they've been a delicacy unlike any other. Only one of the Careers, the Two boy, I think, has come down here in search of anything interesting, but didn't seem at all fond of mangoes. If I wasn't petrified, I might have laughed as he made sure nobody was looking, then cut it clean in half, wild grin on his face. Like a child.

I haven't seen much of their physical _camp_. I saw them setting up, when I first realized they were here: a couple makeshift tents and a pile of silver weapons. I've only spotted three of them, so I've been forced to guess that the One girl was scouting or something. I quickly scrambled back to my place behind the waterfall, forced to stay put while listening to broken bits of conversation. I really don't have to worry about my noise level; the water cascading around me covers any noise I make quite nicely. Doesn't do anything to help with the fear of unknowing though.

I sigh as I look around the wall of water, to my beautiful sanctuary in the middle of the river. The rain has grown thicker since it first appeared yesterday, and I'm thankful again for not having to march through it. I honestly would be surprised if anybody were to get killed by the Careers today. They're probably sitting in their tents, staying warm.

I start suddenly as an idea begins to formulate in my head. If the Careers are all staying at camp, a wild, maybe reckless guess on my part, then I might- _might_ \- be able to escape from their cloud of terror and death. That is a very big _if_ , however, and the likelihood of me being caught is very high. But the reward for getting away- I'll know the location of the Careers' camp, I'll know how to avoid it in the coming days. I'll have a _chance_.

I sit for a few minutes, fighting with myself over my options. The small voice, the hopeful one, urges me to go, while the logical and self-preserving part of my brain screams at me to stay. The sliver of hope wins out though, and it is with a flood of adrenaline and a pounding heart that I step _beyond_ the safety of my new home, into the rain and my uncertain future.

I creep along the vine-covered wall of earth, the river to my back as I look for a place short enough for me to see over, to spot the Careers' camp. It only takes a few moments, before I find the same divot in the black stone that I first watched them from. I peek over, crouching slightly so my eyes and forehead are barely visible.

I almost panic when I see the Two girl walking toward me, but she ducks in to a tent and the pounding in my head slows. I almost groan as the rain increases tenfold, soaking my underclothes, which had been dry only minutes ago. The annoyance extends to the Two boy, who had been trying to start a fire, with no luck.

I'm forced to squint my eyes as I look around for the other two, the Two boy hurrying to another of the tents. I see no sign of the girls from One or Four, and I decide to wait until I am certain of their locations, when I can be sure no one's watching.

After watching for a while, I cock my neck to the side, trying hard to pop the now-stiff joint. The hood of my poncho makes this difficult, however, and I remove it so I might get a little more leverage. I try again, the cold rain pounding against the exposed skin. It feels, for only an instant, like there's something else there too, but…

Before I get the chance to figure out what it might have been, I feel an intense pain in the back of my head, and I cry out as I collapse to the ground. My right hand sinks into the river, up to my wrist, and even the blinding cold is numbed by the sensation of sheer terror that envelops me. A figure stands before me, a shadow in the rain, though when the hood is pulled back, revealing a grin of malice and a glint of silver, I realize that I'm looking in the face of my murderer.

"Fancy meeting _you_ here, _Six_!" She has to shout over the rain, and I try to back away as the adrenaline returns, exponentially greater than before, but still I cannot move. The Four girl raises her foot, slamming it down on to my ankle. I scream again, and I think the older girl _laughs_. Lightning flashes overhead as she presses the long knife against her cheek, and I notice that she has her sword on her waist. Perhaps-

My thought process freezes again as she bends down, pressing the knife against my thigh. She drags the long blade down the length of my leg, until it rests on my ankle, the one she might have just broken. She watches it for a moment, before coming back up alongside me. I try desperately to move away, but she reaches out, crushing me painfully into the ground.

"That looks bad, dearie." She says in a sickly sweet voice. She leans in close, and I feel her lips graze my ear. "Let Mera help you with that." I shudder as the presence temporarily vanishes, before more weight drops upon my abdomen. I whip my fist forward, pummeling the back of the Four girl to no avail. I try to kick her in the face with my knees, but all that earns me is another tendril of pain. She holds down my bad ankle, tugging off my boot and rolling up my pant leg. She moves it slightly so that I can just crane my neck to see.

My ankle is swollen from the trauma, and Mera drives her knife into it like it's a small ball. I roll my head the opposite way and retch, before I realize what Mera's trying to do.

How sick can you be to _cut another person's swelling off_?

* * *

Esmeralda Dawn, Age 18, District 4

District Four Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Until I saw what the Six girl's ankle was doing, I never _dreamed_ of doing something like this. We never covered anything of the sort in training, though in Four we never really covered _torture_ in general. We had always been told that it was the way that Ones or Twos got Sponsors. Fours fought with honor.

But the idea, in the moment of survival and bloodlust, is just so _intoxicating_. Her screams are like a symphony, relentless and encouraging against the pounding of the rain. Each cut of my knife sends another wave of crimson rolling into the black stone, a translucent yellow accompanying it. What should be perfect lines of skin are jagged from the Six girl's thrashing, an annoyance if there ever was one. I can feel her fists smashing desperately into my back, but I don't care. The Twos don't know what's going down; they won't be bothering me, arguing with me. I have time, and I very well plan on using it.

After a few minutes, a flash of lightning produces a glint of white from the girl's leg, and I find that I have made my way through the skin and muscle, all the way to the bones. The white structures are blotched with blood, though the rain has done its best to wash it into the river. I can tell the girl is growing weak from blood loss now, as she barely flinches when I touch her left leg and the dull pounding of her fists has become less frequent. She's fading fast, but I'm not done.

I dig the fingers of my left hand and the blade of my knife into the wound, and I'm reminded of those short training sessions of the gravest of wounds. I poke around a bit, searching for some kind of deformity that I had caused to the girl's fibula or tibia. I grow increasingly frustrated as my hunt proves fruitless, and I ignore another tug from my waist. I sit up straight, cocking my now-stiff neck, hearing a dozen small popping sounds, before bending forward again.

I jump up as I feel pain arc through my back, through my right shoulder, and I turn swiftly upon the girl as her sword- _my sword_ \- falls limp in her grasp. The sound of a cannon rings loudly, vibrating across the river and the Arena. I scream in anger as I see the weak stream of blood spraying out of the girl's neck, and I whip my head around, zeroing in on a figure a few feet away.

Mason Lepodolite lowers his crossbow, before turning and walking away.

* * *

Cordin Bolt, Age 16, District 3

District Three Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

It's been a few hours since the sun rose, since another of our number fell, and only now does the rain begin to slow. Good thing too, I suppose, as the river has swelled so much in the past day that it was about to overrun its own banks, at least in the area I've holed myself up in. Should the water have begun to flow back down toward me, I might have had to leave this place, the only source of familiarity I have in this Arena.

I've wondered who might have departed, and I have some few ideas. Of course, everybody save for me could have been the most recent victim, but as always, the odds bend in favor of some more than others.

The Careers, for instance. The One girl may not be with them; I never saw her the day the Careers set up camp under my tree, the day I robbed them. For her abandonment, she might be hunted, but then again, so would I for stealing. Then the Twos, who, if I'm correct, make up sixty-seven percent of the Careers, likely wouldn't have died without taking someone with them. I could say the same thing for the Four girl.

As much as the thought pains me, Infiniti could have joined the fallen. She's capable, but even on the train I could see her admittedly poor mental state. She lost her ally the first day. That much trauma could strengthen or kill someone in the Arena. Not that we're close, but she's from home.

The Four boy would have probably fallen with his ally, the boy from Eight, but I have no clue as to what dangers the Arena itself poses, so I can't count either of them in. Four might have killed Eight out of frustration.

The Fives, I suspect, are still alive. The girl, the _mother_ , is a favorite in the Capitol, and I wouldn't be surprised if the Gamemakers bowed to their wishes and pushed her into the Final Six. The boy is strong, more skilled than most of us Outliers, and I wouldn't be surprised if he outlived me. And I'm still alive, so he must be.

The girl from Six is a likely prospect, as, like the Twelve girl- who fell the first day- she was extremely malnourished and weak, even before the Arena. The boy, however, likely won't leave the Arena for a while- Final Four at least- so I don't think it was him.

The boy from Seven seemed kind of mediocre to me, and while I don't think he'll win, I think he might worm his way to the Top Ten. I honestly don't remember much of him, which, come to think of it, might make him seem boring, and I know the Capitol hates _boring_.

The boy from Nine, like the Five male, seemed more capable. I could see the glimmer in his eyes. That look that told me his Nine in training wasn't a fluke. A dark past, despite his milky white skin. The desire to fight those who oppose him, to make something of himself. A fear of being cornered, out of options. I shudder as I remember that the boy is only fifteen.

The greatest chances lie in, of course, the younger girls, from Ten and Eleven. Both the youngest left in the Arena, and both equally insignificant in the eyes of the Careers, but adorable in the eyes of the Capitol. Especially the Ten girl, the one who seemed so capable and determined during her Reaping. I don't know how those girls can make it much farther, but hey, Sponsors can carry you far.

It's hard to believe that I've survived five days in the Arena. Already, eleven of us have died, and still my heart beats on. Even harder to believe, I survived taking supplies from the Careers, a feat that I had figured would get me Sponsors. Matrix has sent me nothing so far however, and whether he's saving up or testing me, I have no idea. All I have going for me is a hatchet, an _awesome_ pair of night vision goggles, and a bottle, complete with drinkable river water. Surely I can't only survive on this?

Of course, I'm pretty set shelter-wise, in a grove of trees woven together so tightly that the only ways in or out are up or through a three-square-foot window-like opening on the east side, overlooking a cliff and the ocean a hundred feet below. I haven't dared look over, for fear of falling, but the constant crash of water hitting water tells me all I need to know.

But some matches would be nice. Or a better jacket. Heck, a granola bar would be incredible about now.

What the hay is Matrix doing?

* * *

Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3

District Three Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I let out a shaky breath, tilting my head back and closing my eyes in bliss. I slowly remove my poncho, letting it fall to the ground as my arms seem to cry in relief. There's light beyond my eyelids, and I open them, stretching my arms out as if to embrace the ocean. The growing warmth seems to penetrate my skin, and I imagine steam curling out of my bones.

I flinch as an unwelcome presence of cold stings my back, and I quickly realize that my damp hair is the source of this nuisance. Suddenly, the newly-found, waning warmth is gone, and I shiver again, as I have for the past day. Why can't anything go right?

I reach back, grabbing the thick rope of brown, scowling slightly. I remember my mother, always telling me how lovely it looked. Now, tangled and soaked and covered in dirt, I'm certain it isn't exactly attractive.

I look at it distastefully, remembering all those times a massive tribute pulled the sniveling girl by her hair, laughing at her cries before slitting her throat. Many of those tributes were from Three. Those who couldn't fight and whose worst weakness had been exploited. I pull my hair a little bit, though I know the sting would be much worse if Mason were the one doing it.

I rifle through my supplies, an idea forming in my head. My whip, water, iodine, bandages. Nothing sharp. "Nothing useful." I mutter.

Defeated, I sling my pack over my shoulders and trudge through the sand to my camp, where I've been since the second day. My gaze wander over the fire pit, and I'm not surprised to see that what little embers I had are now a cold black. I heave a great sigh, before plopping my pack against a tree and depositing myself into my hand-made, yet surprisingly strong, hammock. I somehow managed to weave the vines so tightly the even water sometimes has a hard time getting through. That's when I jump up, remembering that water _has a hard time getting through_. I arch my back, my shirt now soaked from contact with the offending puddle of rain my bed collected today. I curse internally as my eyes rove over the white sand, quickly zeroing in on a spot of ugly yellow in the fading sunlight.

I run toward it, hoping desperately for any warmth I can receive from it. My ponytail bounces around my head, and I stumble, almost collapsing into the sea of white when it flies into my face. I turn away, but it soars into my mouth anyway. I gag, yanking it out and pulling on my head in my anger. I probably look ridiculous, I realize, but it's too late to care. I remove the shirt and pull the poncho from the ground. It's drier from its few minutes in the sun, but it's still damp. It'll have to do for now.

I turn, ready to head back, when a flash of silver catches my eye. I whirl back to the ocean, sure it couldn't be what I thought it was. Then I almost laugh in relief when I recognize the silver fabric of the parachute and the metal canister. On a desolate island like this, in an Arena such as this, help from the outside world is astronomically precious.

I snatch it out of the air, flashing a smile to the sky before sitting down to open it. I feel my grin widen as I twist off the lid, revealing a slip of crisp, white paper, and a long, double-edged dagger.

I quickly note the silver edges, one sharp and curved, for plunging into an enemy, the other straight and serrated, for cutting and slashing. I run my fingers over the leather hilt and handle as I fish the paper out of the container.

 _Win. –Ingrid_

I smile, remembering my mentor, a girl a hundred years older than me.

I grab my ponytail near the band that holds it together, and get to work as long strands of brown drop to the sand.

* * *

Mason Lepodolite, Age 18, District 2

District Two Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Mera's still fuming. It's hilarious, as long as you ignore the sword and the murderous glare in her eyes. She could be a toddler almost, fussing over a broken toy. That's how she was treating the Six girl: like a toy.

Don't get me wrong, I have no problems with what the recap will bring tonight. I'm here to kill these tributes, to bring glory to my District. It's not _my_ fault the others are here. I'm here to _win_.

Mera and Cassia don't seem to understand that this is all a _Game_. Games are _fun_. If the Alliance is going to be this tense, we'll fall at the drop of an arrow. We almost _did_ fall at the fall of an arrow, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid, if only for a moment, of course. That's why I missed the Nine boy after Marcus' death; I thought the Careers would explode, far too early in these Hunger Games.

Granted, I had figured we'd have at least a little more fun, but I got stuck with the grumps. So I sit here at the fire, fingering my crossbow as Mera swings her sword back and forth. I don't watch her, I refuse to let her think I was challenging her, but I watch her as she paces around the fire. At least she's not yelling at me, I suppose, though a _thank you_ might have been nice. I saved her life, after all.

But that's not the way _she_ sees it. All she cared was that I had stolen her kill. While that is technically true, the Six girl had ripped her sword from her side in sheer desperation and was about to swing it into Mera's neck when I cut her short. Her right shoulder is bandaged, though you can tell she's in a lot of pain. She continues to glare daggers at me though.

Finally, she stops, right across the fire from me. Her knees are about shoulder-width apart, so I imagine she's either looking down at me, or about to throw something at me. Putting my most ridiculous smile on, I look up.

"You done pouting, Four?" I ask sweetly. She snarls, and I pour malice into my expression. _Half the Game is intimidation_ , my father had told me. "Because it's almost time for the _recap_."

"You shouldn't even get to watch, Two. You don't have the _honor_ to see the dead for the last time." She raises her head, looking down her nose at me. If she had glasses, she'd be the perfect secretary.

"Because _honor_ was on your mind when you flayed that girl like one of your pathetic fish. I was coming to _look_ for you, Four, and I _saved_ your _life_." I stand, staring across at her. Her knuckles glow white in the firelight, tense on the handle of her now-sheathed sword. I quickly realize what it is she wants, and I raise my crossbow slightly.

"Do you want to go there, Two?" She asks, narrowing her eyes. Yes, she'd make the perfect secretary. "Because you might get a shot off before I cut your hands off. I'd love to see that." I watch as her shoulders rise and fall more slowly as she attempts to fight back the adrenaline. I'm sorely tempted to kill her, of course, but I don't want to risk losing. Worse, I don't want Two to lose this year.

"Oh, I do, Four. But later, when there aren't a dozen outliers for you to fend off by yourself." I turn to my tent, ignoring the Panem anthem and the sudden blue-white light illuminating the jungle. I crawl into my tent, sliding a pair of daggers into my fists.

I'm going to be the one to kill her, I decide. And her District Partner. The Threes. The Fives. The Six and Eight boys. I'll have five full sets by the end of these Games, mark my words.

I will _win_.

* * *

 **Deaths!**

 **16** **th** **Place: Jetta Carter, Age 17, District Six Female**

 **Shot in the throat by Mason Lepodolite, District Two Male**

 **Time in Arena: 4 Days, 19 Hours, 14 Minutes, 56 Seconds**

 **I had so many ideas for Jetta. I got her, and I loved what her submitter suggested she do the first day. However, in order for this to happen, she needed allies. She might have lasted longer if someone had asked to be her ally, or if her submitter had asked for allies, but alas, neither happened. HufflePuffleJay, thanks for the tribute I could literally pick apart, and I'm sorry she had to go so soon.**

* * *

 **Placings!**

 **26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **17** **th** **: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male**

 **16** **th** **: Jetta Carter, Age 17, District Six Female**

* * *

 **Kills!**

 **Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)**

 **Cassia Lyra Maurise: 2 (Thorn Ashbury, D11M; Sparky Montgomery, D13M)**

 **Mason Lepodolite: 3 (Jetta Carter, D6F; Tulle Salane, D8F; Keola Foeba, D12F)**

 **Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn: 2 (Soot Maloy, D12M; Rebelle Sunflower Rine, D13F)**

 **Darius Line: 1 (Harvest Miller, D9F)**

 **Other: 2 (Marcus Caelum, D1M (Sepsis); Denny Rico, D10M (Jaguar))**

* * *

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers: Mason (2), Cassia (2) and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Malaran (Araya?): Malaya (1), and Aran (6)**

 **Brains and Brawn: Blue (4), and Henry (8)**

* * *

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Logan (7)**

 **Thanatos (9)**

 **Cheyenne (10)**

 **Willow (11)**

* * *

 **Questions!**

 **General thoughts?**

 **Fav. POV?**

 **Least fav?**

 **Anything surprise you?**

 **Out of the remaining 15, who do you think is best set to survive?**

 **I'm considering starting a new SYOT. Your thoughts? (I'd do my best to continue with both, of course. I'd sooner finish this one than put in on hiatus)**

 **Yours in fellowship,**

 **Lord Z**


	39. Torn Hearts- Day Six Recap

**And now that Day Six is over, we can continue on to the friends/family of the tributes we didn't get to see last time! If you haven't read Day Six, I'd suggest going back. Unless you want spoilers. Then whatever.**

 **Reviews!**

 **roses burning: Okay, I won't answer that. However, now I'm asking the question of myself… hm. Thanks for the review!**

 **dreams and desperation: How can any of us determine how long a tribute may last, eh? I'm the author, and** ** _I_** **don't know what all's going down in the future! Thanks for the review!**

 **Mystical Pine Forest: Don't worry about disappearing, I do it all the time XD. And I'm still on the fence about a second SYOT, but I'll be sure it's not FCFS. Did I make that acronym up? I think I did XD. Thanks for the review!**

 **Clis2339: It was rather bad, huh? I meant to be more detailed, but my mind rebelled and that was the result. I'm thinking of starting a new SYOT around the Final Eight, but I'm not entirely sure. Thanks for the review!**

 **Thanks again to all you peeps who read and review this story. I know my updates can be irregular at best, but reviews are what keep me going. I swear, I act like a child who just got a puppy when my phone alerts me to a new review. I smile stupidly and let out muffled cries of joy after I read them. Or so my brother says. He finds it extremely annoying. I love annoying him with that at this point XD.**

 **Between work and school, writing time has taken a back seat. However, as soon as I have sufficient funds for a new, smaller, stronger laptop, writing on-the-go should be a lot easier, and updates should become more regular. (Traveling with my current laptop has left a series of black streaks across the screen, which is very annoying. I promised myself I would never carry it in my school bag again.)**

 **It's been two weeks since my last update. Not my best, certainly not my worst.**

 **Anyway, enough of my ramblings. On to the story!**

* * *

Rana Solace, Age 18, District 5

Friend of Darius Line

* * *

It's stupid how they don't allow friends of the tributes on the Thrones. I mean, for the longest time, they allowed Dev's friends to be up there, but tonight, surprisingly, her family has shown up. I've been beside Darius' platform since Day One, supporting his mother as I know he always should have done. She blames herself for everything, of course, but how could she, really? I know the story, I was one of the few she told it to. She worried that, should Darius know, he'd go pick fights with Darius Thunder, our Head Peacekeeper. She always thought it best that he be mad at her and not _him_. His regret and despair upon this realization still haunts me, six days in to the Games. She's falling apart, and there's not much I can do to help her.

Things have been steady for District Five since Dev's narrow escape the first day, and Darius', well… collection of supplies. His mentor clearly knows what's he's doing, using the Sponsor money from the Nine girl's death to send him a Sponsor gift. He seems to be getting better mentally, to my relief. I honestly think he can come home, barring the Gamemakers develop anything against him.

* * *

Byke Carter, Age 45, District 6

Father of Jetta Carter

* * *

 _At age seven, finally getting the courage to tag along._

 _"Would it be okay if I came with you, Daddy?" Her broad, shy grin and the sea of brown and caramel cascading around her shoulders remind me of her mother for the hundredth time. But I can't take care of children; especially not out on the tracks. It's too dangerous._

 _I look behind the child, where Laney, the light of my life, nods encouragingly. Reluctantly, I look down at my daughter. "Fine." I say, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. "But you have to do as I say without question." She nods so hard, I worry for a moment she might topple over. I flinch as she wraps her arms around me, burying her face in the folds of my new suit. I look to my wife, who's smiling lovingly._

 _A muffled voice whispers, "Thank you, Daddy."_

I had never been as distraught as when I opened the door in the Justice Building, seeing my little girl staring at the floor miserably. Seeing her there, I didn't think about Sikle, my thirteen-year-old brother sitting in the same place for the last Quell. I didn't think of my parents, or the night a switchblade had wedged its way into their hearts, right before my fifteen-year-old eyes. All I saw was my little girl, alone and scared, and there was absolutely nothing I could do.

 _At age twelve, attending her first Reaping._

 _"I'm scared." She told me quietly._

 _Things had changed over the past five years. She walked the rails with me most days, she helped me run the station, she'd spend more and more time near me, something I quickly grew to enjoy. Seeing her in her pretty dress, tears welling in her eyes, I wished I could hide her away, somewhere she'd be safe._

 _"You've only got one slip in that bowl." I told her, though I was probably more terrified than she was. I had told my brother something similar, and_ he _was Reaped. "They're not going to pick you."_

 _That year, the One-Hundred-Forty-Fifth, a petite girl in her class was called, a girl named Jetta Bronze. My baby girl screamed in horror, and I had to hold her as the Games started that year. Her only friend, perhaps truly ever, placed twenty-third, killed by the brute from Two._

My friends and coworkers told me I shouldn't watch as the Four girl approached my girl from behind. They told me I should go home after the tendons in her ankle snapped. They warned me not to do anything rash as the flow of blood stopped and the cannon rang.

But now I'm in prison to be hanged and my daughter's dead and my wife's probably devastated.

Who cares about those Capitol socialites whose train derailed just outside of Six? They've got thousands of those; I only had one Jetta.

* * *

Reyna Quade, Age 9, District 6

Sister of Aran Quade

* * *

To tell you I was scared would be a complete understatement. I am completely and utterly terrified. The Capitol seems to be doing their best to take everything from me- my mother, whom I never knew, my father, who seems even more a stranger than family, and Aran, my best friend and protector. The only person who ever cared for me and for whom I cared.

 _Stop being like that_. I chide myself. _He's coming home_.

I so desperately want to believe that. He's in a good place right now, with the orange-haired girl who's been teaching him how to fight. But there are still a lot in the Game as of right now, and anything can happen.

It's been thirteen days since he left; six days since the reporters came pounding at our little door, which he had taken so much care to fix after a robbery a couple winters ago. It fell right in, of course, and it didn't matter how much I protested or complained or feigned the pain: they hauled me out of my little corner of my home, where the twins had been visiting me several times a day, and paraded me to the Justice Building. At first I thought there must have been some mistake, that Aran wasn't going into the Games after all.

But then I recognized the Thrones and the milling crowds and the swaths of Peacekeepers and an utter feeling of dread came over me. On the screens, the tributes were rising out of the ground, seeing the Arena for the first time.

Watching the past few days has been horrid, and I wish I could just go home. But I can't; I'm Aran's only family. They won't allow me to leave.

* * *

Kyle Elm, Age 17, District 7

Friend of Logan Woodson

* * *

Logan's done pretty well if I do say so myself, and I do, of course. The Top Fifteen is nothing to squabble over, as eleven poor kiddos never make it to that point each year, like that pretty lass, Kenzi. That run-in with the Careers yesterday was pretty close, but where trees were involved, I'm not surprised he bested them. When it comes to the woods, Seven always prevails.

The crew has seemed kind of empty since my young friend left. Work goes on in Seven, even during the Games, and it's been strange to just keep going with only Ash for company. Already, I'm getting sick of his thick-headedness. He acts as though he was Logan's best mate, that he's the new Logan Woodson while he's away. I don't care if they're the same age; it's downright annoying.

I haven't seen much of his family the past two weeks, though I s'pect they're doing alright, for the most part. Their son or brother is alive, outliving almost half the field and still strong. I'm surprised that he hasn't cracked yet though. Six days of solitude and fear can't be good on your mind.

It was hard to watch the Williams' leave their daughter's Throne the first day. The poor woman was wailing in grief, the old man seemed close. A shame too- she was very pretty. But perhaps, with one going down so early, Logan might have a chance? The Gamemakers usually make it so hard for a District pair to reach the end after the little thing in the Seventy-Fourth, but sometimes tributes whose Partners fall early are lucky enough to fly under their notice.

Could Logan make it far enough?

* * *

Hazel Cardigan, Age 99, District 8

Sixty-Seventh Hunger Games Victor

* * *

"I'm done." I say for the hundredth time. Life's been hectic since Satin showed up for tea this afternoon, when he found me lying on the floor at the bottom of my stairs. When he saw me, groaning from the pain of the seventeen skeletal fractions and dislocated shoulder, his eyes widened, before he hobbled out of the room. I must be honest, I was a bit jealous; I haven't moved that fast in years. Before I knew it, paramedics were rushing through my door, shoving my antique sofa out of the way to get the stretcher in. I had almost complained, when I realized that the medics weren't from Eight, but were Capitol. I blacked out before we got to the hovercar, waking up on the stupid train, taking me to the Capitol. Again.

Satin isn't here now, and I'm not sure whether to be happy or disappointed. The eighty-nine year old grump was always good for a laugh, but now only Yvonne is here to watch over me, holding my hand as Capitol nurses rush around my old room. Her eyebrows are knitted tightly, the way they always were when she was stressed. It's hard to believe I've known her since the year she won, when Cecelia was fighting for her and Satin was fighting for her Partner, Crow. It's been a lifetime since those Games, and yet she still worries about everything. I suppose it makes sense though, she hasn't been the same since her Games, though I suppose none of us ever are.

"I'm done." I say again, tapping my thumb on her arm. I nod to the IV cords in my elbows, then to the machines. She shakes her head again, looking away from my pleading eyes. I wouldn't normally be like this, and perhaps that is why she isn't listening to me. Normally, Sonia Reynoso would be my doctor, knowing what I needed even if _I_ didn't. But she's gone now, and so I must go to the Capitol doctors and their weird ways. The press will love that, I know, but I can't give them such a show. I have been against that from the start, something Sonia and my fellow Victors understood. I tap Yvonne again. "Please." I whisper.

Tears streak down her face, the same silver as her hair. She reaches for my shoulder, one last time before nodding in grief and despair.

I smile one last time, ready to see Sonia and Cotton and my children and grandchildren again. Finally, I can rest.

* * *

Aoife Rize, Age 15, District 9

Twin Sister of Thanatos Rize

* * *

I'm growing tired of the glances. The heads turning from the screens, then back before Than disappears. They're looking for similarities. Some kind of proof that the boy from our District in this year's Hunger Games is somehow related to me. They don't think I'm his fourth cousin once removed, I'm sure, much less his twin. But it's the truth; I don't care what they think.

The day of the Reaping, I only had four slips in the bowl; my parents had always refused to let me take out tesserae, reminding me that I was a gift from the heavens. I had resented my brother, the strange one I couldn't remember, who disappeared when we were seven. Only three weeks ago, when my parents forced me to go to a meeting where they'd be talking about the logistics of having twins or triplets, well, I found out why exactly Thanny had left me so alone.

I searched for that first week, desperately asking around about the strangely pale boy, on the run for about eight years. Mostly, people ignored me. Peacekeepers huffed impatiently and told me to go home. An old soothsayer told me he was dead. Then, just when I had given up hope, he's Reaped for the Hunger Games.

Why does life have to be so unfair?

At least he's alive. With every passing day, I've awoken to chanting down the hall, accompanied by a feeling of dread. Once the Games started, I stayed at the City Center on the Throne next to the Millers'. I haven't left since, much to my parents' impatience and anger. They feel I've betrayed them. Thanny's the one who's been betrayed, by everyone who should have loved him.

I'm not leaving him again.

* * *

Faye Maron, Age 12, District 10

Friend of Cheyenne Bruno

* * *

Cheyenne is doing so good! She's seemed more determined ever since Denny died, and while the whole District felt his passing, we still have one in the running! And she's my best friend!

It was horrid, what happened to the Six girl earlier. When the screens showed us the tributes' reactions to her cannon, Cheyenne seemed unaffected. In fact, most of the tributes seemed detached as her face lit up the sky, save for her District Partner and his ally. There was a flicker of resigned sadness in Aran's eyes, and sympathy in Malaya's. But neither said a word.

Cheyenne simply shrugged and returned to her wanderings. She's been looking for a shelter of some sort since the rain stopped, though has made no progress thus far. She seems a little cold, but I'm sure the heat of the jungle will warm her right up. There aren't any tributes in the immediate vicinity, so she should be safe from them.

The people of Ten are unsure of whether or not my friend can win. I mean, she's lasted six days, outlived eleven other tributes, including a Career, and still people doubt. She escaped a _jaguar_ , a creature designed to kill. The Careers are already starting to fray. The other tributes are in about the same shape she is. She has just as good or bad a chance as any of them.

She _will_ win, I just know it. She _has_ to.

* * *

Asher Orchids, Age 13, District 11

Twin Brother of Willow Orchids

* * *

It's so hard to have to watch Willow survive day to day. I'd have gladly taken her place if the Volunteer rules weren't in place. So what if we're not the same gender? I'd have taken her place in a heartbeat.

I almost took the boy's spot too, but I knew that as much as I might have tried to protect my sister, there was no way we were both leaving the Arena alive. I couldn't force that upon Mint. And what if we both died? I have no strength to propel me through the Arena; not like Thorn, who died the first day.

And speaking of Thorn, there have been whispers through the District, a topic quickly muted if Peacekeepers are around, of course. Eleven protects their own, even if their own left their family behind for several years. Word has it that even through Thorn's death, his father and sister seem unchanged by the Games. They still have that longing sadness, of course; an expression I see whenever they glance up at Mint and I, wondering why Willow is still alive and their son or brother isn't. However, they seem much lighter than they did before, and, well, as a District with nothing interesting, news is bound to spread like wildfire.

Between the Ashburys' new clothes, their lighter disposition, and a few witnesses _insisting_ they saw a woman shrouded in grey step through their doorway on Number 17 Cherry Tree Lane, never to return, well… The evidence all adds up.

Izzy Ashbury has returned home.

* * *

Velvet Furse, Age 111 (18), District 8

Fifty-Seventh Hunger Games Victor

* * *

The Control Center is particularly loud tonight, something incredibly annoying to me and altogether depressing. The Career Victors, Jacob Gold, Halibut Odair, and last year's sweetheart, Moara Slater, are laughing and joking about the day's events. Jacob seems particularly happy with the added name to his tribute's list. Moara mostly seems uncomfortable, and Halibut is just happy for some reason.

Jade Heghes from One is ignoring them, watching her tribute's vitals, like Ingrid Relbot and Matrix Volt from Three, Matt Electrode and Fosca Beralia from Five, and Lily Jeng from Seven. Blue's Mentor, Kinzie Wrasse, has been constantly glaring at me since the Games started, no matter how many times I tell her the Alliance was up to the tributes, not me. The women from Nine, Ten and Eleven, Harvest Summer, Tabitha Shearer and Crysta Rine, seem out of it for the most part. And who can blame them? Their tributes are safe, for the time being.

Henry has never seemed safe to me. Even after his near-death experience, he nearly drowned after effectively saving his Ally. Had Blue decided he had outlived his usefulness, I'd no longer have a tribute. But surely the time will come…

My eyes wander to my funds, the money I got for Henry, even before his Alliance with Blue. I could use these only for my tribute if I so wish, and an idea occurs to me.

Henry only has an ally because he's smart, and especially useful in an Arena like this one. If I can just send him seemingly random ingredients he can use, Blue'd be impressed. In theory. My fingers are instantly flying over the keyboard, memory of the four other tributes, including my own cousin, driving me forward. Lily and Harvest watch, fascinated, as I work, though I believe both of them are just bored. After only a few minutes, my list complete, I punch the _enter_ button, a popup notifying me that my request is being processed.

I sit back, satisfied, as the herbs and insects and powders float down in a single case. I imagine how Henry, who's honestly seemed kinda bummed for a few days, will react. _Time to show the world what you're really made of!_ He'd read.

My Victory is short-lived, however, as Cecelia bursts into the Control Center and marches up to me, tears in her eyes.

"It's Hazel." She whispers, almost inaudibly, "She's gone."

* * *

 **And it would appear as though, even when I'm killing characters in the Games, I can still pick on the elderly of District Eight. I'm such a jerk.**

* * *

 **Placings!**

 **26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **17** **th** **: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male**

 **16** **th** **: Jetta Carter, Age 17, District Six Female**

* * *

 **Kills!**

 **Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)**

 **Cassia Lyra Maurise: 2 (Thorn Ashbury, D11M; Sparky Montgomery, D13M)**

 **Mason Lepodolite: 3 (Jetta Carter, D6F; Tulle Salane, D8F; Keola Foeba, D12F)**

 **Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn: 2 (Soot Maloy, D12M; Rebelle Sunflower Rine, D13F)**

 **Darius Line: 1 (Harvest Miller, D9F)**

 **Other: 2 (Marcus Caelum, D1M (Sepsis); Denny Rico, D10M (Jaguar))**

* * *

 **Alliances!**

 **Malaran (Araya?): Malaya (1), and Aran (6)**

 **Careers: Mason (2), Cassia (2) and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Brains and Brawn: Blue (4), and Henry (8)**

* * *

 **Loners!**

 **Infiniti (3)**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Devon (5)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Logan (7)**

 **Thanatos (9)**

 **Cheyenne (10)**

 **Willow (11)**

* * *

 **Questions!**

 **I am uninspired. Come up with your own questions!**

 **Lord Z**


	40. Strength in Numbers- Day Seven

**And, Day Seven people! About time!**

 **I am so sorry guys. I had no motivation whatsoever, and when I did, I'd sit down to write and only lose interest again. I got the new laptop though, and it's fantastic!**

 **Reviews!**

 **dreams and desperation: Yeah, I'm a real jerk XD. Thanks for the review!**

 **roses burning: The fact that you take the time to review is amazing! There are so many who seem to have disappeared, and it breaks my heart, but you, dreams, Clis, Misty and a few others have always been here. Thanks so much for the review!**

 **Clis2339: I've already had my toenail ripped off, so I'll go with that one. And yes, it was incredibly uncomfortable. And, um… which one am I getting paid for? XD. Probs the shower to be honest. Thanks for the review!**

 **Again, I love all my readers. I love all my tributes. I love all the authors who have taken the time to write for my characters. This site is my break from the mortal world. I can create my own fantasy and brutally murder anyone I wish out of anger (no, that's not what happened to Jetta. She was submitted as a tortured soul). Thank you guys so much!**

* * *

Jasper Blue, Age 16, District 4

District Four Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

"So what's the plan from here?" Henry asks quietly, studying a jar of some grasshopper-looking bugs. Already, he's taken to chopping a couple up and mashing them together, putting them in a plastic baggie. I'm unsure how exactly he managed to get enough money for it, but I'd get no answers asking about it anyway.

 _What's the plan from here?_ I resist the urge to gag at the thought, as I have since I saved him from drowning. Since he saved _me_ from drowning. He still seems shaken by the experience, but the collection of herbs and powders and insects seems to have lifted him ever-so-slightly.

I know he was wondering aloud what he should make next, but he unknowingly voiced my thoughts. Where do we go from here? Where do we want to be? How long will this last? At what point will my ally become a burden?

With all these questions stinging my mind, I ask: "What have you made?"

He looks up from his ponderings, a broad grin spreading over his face. "Well, let's see- I've just mashed together a healing salve that should help blood to clot faster, I have a mixture for rashes, though I haven't seen any poison ivy yet. I even have little pills to help with headaches!" He shakes his fists triumphantly, and I can't help but laugh. He cocks his head, that wicked grin on his face, and I imagine him with a long, pointy hat and a wand. Assuming his little formulas work, he could be a little wizard from the old stories- the ones about a lightning-shaped scar, a basilisk, a dark lord and a school of magic.

I am reminded, painfully, of the outer world, which I so desperately want to get back to. The thing is, there are over a dozen others who feel the same way, including my young friend. I couldn't bear to be the one to rip that away from him. He's told me about his sisters, his grandmother the miracle doctor, keeping even old Hazel Cardigan alive for the past couple decades. That lady is almost a hundred.

But I have my own home. Father, who I abandoned all those years ago. Mother, who reappeared after the Reaping. Tycho, my old nemesis. Coraline, my only true friend. I'd have to give that up so another may return to whatever it is they have. Would I be able to ever willingly make that sacrifice?

"Henry." I say slowly, my thoughts running wild. We've been here a week, and yet neither of us has given voice to the shadows of our heads. "What _is_ the plan, do you think? How long do you think is safe for us to, well… remain? We can only endure so much, and I'd hate for it to come down to us…"

He looks up as I speak, his intelligent eyes scanning my face, my soul. "How am I supposed to know?" He jokes, but I can tell he's afraid of where this is going. "You know more than I do; how far do _you_ think is reasonable?"

I think for a moment. He _handed_ me this decision. I could take it and run, or I could hold out a little longer.

"There are thirteen others out there." I say. "The likelihood of either of us surviving on our own, with so many still capable of killing either of us, well… I don't like those odds. And I'd rather one of us go home than a Two or even… even Mera." As soon as I say it, I know it's true. If I died, I'd rather Mera, my only connection from home, die too. If I couldn't, I'd love to see this boy win.

Henry visibly releases his breath, and the color begins to return to his knuckles, wrapped tightly around the hilt of the Six boy's knife. He blinks slowly, looking at me quizzically. "And?"

A hundred Games and a thousand Alliances fly through my mind, and I take hold of a singular idea that succeeded more often than not.

"How about the Final Eight? By then, we'll each have a one-in-eight chance of survival, technically speaking. That's seven deaths away, and by then we could be here another week." It hits me then just how slow these Games are progressing. So many fallen in the Bloodbath, and only three in the days after. I very well could be with this boy well after Day Fourteen.

Henry strokes his chin in thought, and I fight the urge to laugh. I know he's trying to be comical again, worried even as the deal is more than many can hope for.

"You know what, Blue? You've got yourself a deal." He extends his hand, and I shake it firmly. He gives a small smile before returning to his supplies.

"Now, what was that recipe for anti-hemlock?" He mutters.

* * *

Cassia Maurise, Age 18, District 2

District Two Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

 _Day Seven_. I had been hoping we'd be farther along by this point, maybe the Top Twelve, but there are still so many left. Besides myself, we have that wretched, self-important Mera, my idiot Partner Mason, Malaya and Jasper, who abandoned ship, all from Career districts. Despite having five trained killers remaining in the Game, there are ten others still out there somewhere. Hiding. Watching, maybe. It's difficult to be an effective killing force if you can't cover as much ground. Two people on patrol at a time, and one left behind to defend the supplies. This seemed like it would be so much easier when there was going to be six of us. Not anymore.

Especially not today. After the events of last night, Mera's fun, Mason stealing her kill- which was hilarious- she was furious, I suppose. She ripped into him last night, and not in the fun way. It took forever for me to fall asleep last night, listening to her shouts and threats. This morning, however, she was gone.

She didn't take any supplies, no. We checked her tent, finding that only her sword was gone. All our bags are here, and we can't figure out whether anything's missing from them. It seems she just woke up and went hunting before we could.

Mason's staring at the fire, a slight smile playing across his lips. He hasn't said much to me this morning, though what is there to talk about, really? We've gone to great lengths talking about the others since this Game started, since we Volunteered. We already know plenty about each other; we trained together, and knowing your enemy's strengths is all you need in the Hunger Games. There's no reason to discuss last night's kill, the girl wasn't even that important in the greater scheme of things. I couldn't even tell you her name. She was just another face in the sky, another one I'd have to kill.

I subconsciously run my hands over my knife vest, wincing slightly as the edge of a fighting knife tugs over the scar of my right palm. The Five girl's aim is either quite extraordinary, or she's extremely lucky. I do know her name. Devon Rose. She and her Partner are one of the few remaining outlier pairs. She didn't particularly stand out to me, the Fives never do, but now she's on my hit list.

"Think we'll catch anyone today?" Mason calls loudly. I roll my eyes before walking to sit across from him. He knows as well as I do that no tribute would dare venture into our camp with both the Twos here, and it's honestly best that neither of us leave before we locate Mera.

I voice my thoughts to him, and he scowls.

"Who cares what she's doing? She's out pouting; I don't see why we should suffer because she can't handle the fact that I'm better." I roll my eyes, wondering how exactly shooting a girl on the ground in the neck makes you "better."

Granted, he _did_ shoot a squirming Six in the carotid artery. With a crossbow. But that gives him no right to berate Mera. Even if I don't necessarily like her.

The skies are clear today. I don't know what the Gamemakers are playing at; the rain should have made it more _difficult_ to us to find tributes, though I suppose it did help us yesterday. It might have flushed them out, but the limited visibility, coupled with the already dark jungle, would have undoubtedly made our jobs even more difficult in general.

I guess the single death was good enough to satisfy them for a bit.

Mason snarls before getting up and making his way to the tent. I watch him go, imagining the anxiety he must be feeling in this place. His desire to rip peoples' heads off probably doesn't help, nor the fact that only three tributes have _died_ since the initial Bloodbath. It's been a week, and only eleven tributes have died. I haven't the slightest clue what happened to the Nine girl and the boy from Ten. The rest were felled by us, or at least near us. Marcus was killed by the Nine boy, or so Mason claims.

One week, and the Careers are already down to three. Three against twelve, I'm not a fan of those odds. But I don't have to be.

* * *

Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1

District One Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Aran wasn't as distraught last night as I had thought he'd be. We both new that the chances of the one cannon yesterday being hers were relatively high, especially this far in the Game. With all that rain yesterday, we had figured they just wanted to prove they were in control. They wouldn't kill a "major player," not in such an anticlimactic matter. They wouldn't have killed the girls from Ten or Eleven, because their deaths would need to be more heartfelt. We didn't die, either. Aside from Jetta, that leaves only a handful of potential kills.

He seems more at peace almost, not having to worry about her anymore. My leg wound has healed considerably since we got the cream, and I've been left with little more than a limp, and so he doesn't seem much concerned after me, to which I'm thankful. He seems to really be getting into the attitude of the Hunger Games, a free-for-all-type persona.

He's been practicing with that bow a lot more too, the constant _thud_ of arrows striking trees a constant companion since I woke up. He's a crazy straight shot with that thing, and the trees surrounding our camp are now peppered with holes. He's been rotating as he takes aim, if only to make sure he doesn't break another arrow.

He sighs, rolling his shoulders as he follows the final shot, before moving to collect them for the hundredth time this morning. I'm not sure what it is exactly he's trying to prepare himself for, but he seems more determined than ever.

"Aran?" I call hesitantly as he rips an arrow free, sticking it back in the quiver. He freezes, turning slowly to face me. He cocks his head, and the storm behind his eyes surprises me. The one look, which he quickly masks, is one of anger, regret.

He studies me for a moment, and my fingers twitch involuntarily toward the javelin. His expression is unreadable, but I hold his gaze. Finally, the tempest dies, the weapons fall to the ground, ignored, as the Six boy walks away from them.

Toward me.

I panic for a moment as I imagine him venting his frustration through strangling me, beating me, as I had seen in past Games. He just plops down next to me, moaning softly. I turn toward him, shivering despite the heat. The crazy, intense heat. There are tears in his eyes now, and his expression seems darker. I jerk away, gazing back into the hot, dark jungle.

"Malaya?" I cringe pathetically, and I want to cry. I don't know what's going on. Why am I here? Where I have to hurt others just because they're out to get me? I-

I freeze as a cool, rough hand brushes stray strands of auburn from my face. I've been here so long, I don't even notice them anymore. My head is gently turned away from my problems, and instead toward the man whose problems chose him. He cocks his head, smiling softly.

"You're the one who called me over here." He reminds me. The world seems to fade as he speaks, laced with trust and void of pain. I think back to my life before the Arena, only two short weeks ago. I had three boyfriends, for the sake of popularity, my greatest social ally.

This man, whom anyone else in my position would have killed the first day, has continued to show me compassion and empathy in the past week. As a complete stranger on that rooftop, he braved his fear of who I'm supposed to me in order to get to know me.

Adrenaline courses through me, though different from what I've known before. A rush of joy, of bliss. Without thinking, I lean in, catching his lips with my own. My blood pounds in my ears, drowning out the voices of everyone who ever warned me against this. The only sound I can hear is Aran's soft grunt of surprise, though it's cut short.

I found someone who knows me for who I am, and doesn't want me to be someone else. I'm never letting go.

* * *

Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10

District Ten Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

This jungle has brought a whole new meaning to discomfort since the rain started the other day. Even though I was under cover for most of it, I am nearly completely soaked from head to toe. The water drips from my head, coats my fingers, drags down my clothing. Every step results in a _squish_ from my sock. Very uncomfortable, very annoying, and ultimately terrifying.

Until last night, I had begun to wonder what had happened to the other tributes. Two full days without a death, after ten in the first three. Surely, the Capitol had begun to grow bored?

Hence the rain, I think as I trudge upriver. I've been marching all morning, trying to map out the snaking currents, which I suspect is the only source of water in the Arena. It's fresh and flowing, and must come from somewhere; the Gamemakers wouldn't have some continuous, flowing circle. I'm not even sure that's physically possible.

I yank my boot from the mud with a loud sucking noise. The rain didn't only kill Jetta last night; it made stealth impossible. If anyone was nearby, they'd have likely found me by now. But I would have heard them too, and probably would have escaped. Depending on the tribute, I guess.

I shiver at that thought. Has my mindset changed so much already that I sit pondering my own demise? This jungle seems to warp your own thoughts. I'm sure it's the stress, the constant fear, but this place is still unnatural. Constant vigilance is required, for one misstep could break your neck. One false turn could have you marching headlong into the Careers' camp. Denny and Keola never would have survived long out here.

But they didn't, did they? I feel another pang for my allies, who I had always thought to be my last chance at talking with people who weren't trying to kill me. I wonder if any of the others feel the same, those whose Partners are lost. Does the girl from One miss Marcus? What about the boys from Six, Seven, Eight and Nine? Three of them lost their connection to home the first day. The Twelves, the Thirteens, already gone. Rebelle seemed so sure of herself, how did she fall so soon? What hope do I have if even she can't pass the first test?

My foot suddenly sinks into the mud, and I trip over a hidden root. I groan as I crash to the ground, noting that my clothes are covered in wet slop now, and they'll need a deep clean in order to even _live_ in. I'm about to scream when a voice calls out.

"Mason? If that's you, I swear I'm going to rip your head off! I wanted to be alone, you stupid gnat! Show yourself!" I freeze as the Four girl's footsteps quickly draw closer, her strength allowing her speed through the mud my light weight would never allow. I push myself to my hands and knees, scrambling into the nearby shadows. I press myself in between the trunk of a tree and a thick fern, pulling my knees in close and lying on my side. I feel so exposed as the footsteps pause, the girl's low voice calling sweetly.

"Oh my! Has a savage animal dragged something through the mud here? Wait a moment, there's no blood… Perhaps someone _civilized_ has decided to pay me a visit! Don't be shy, little friend, come out!" My heart stops as her footsteps approach, but I don't dare look up. The fern shakes beside me, and I hear the older girl humming to herself. She's got to be right next to me.

She steps past, and I listen as the sounds of her wading through the undergrowth recedes. After a moment, I shakily rise to my feet.

"There you are, friend! Come play!" I whirl around, away from the voice, and a sharp pain strikes me in the upper right arm. I scream in pain, but my legs don't register the fire consuming my right side. I run, faster than I ever would have dared otherwise, given the terrain. My feet manage to find hold on stones and roots and dryer bits of earth. The adrenaline carries me over the river, deeper into the jungle. I don't know how to get back to my familiar tree hollow, but I have all my supplies on my back anyway. The pack seems light now, barely a hindrance as I weave among the trees.

Light. In the dimness of the jungle, I see a pinprick of sunlight, pure and certainly cooler than the humid jungle. Impossibly, I run harder, unaware of how close my pursuer might be. The gap grows wider, until I finally break the tree line.

The ground changes, but that hardly registers. I pause as I gaze over the expanse of blue before me, a cool breeze blowing through my hair. How long have we been on an island?

I cry out again, exhaustion and fear and pain overcoming my body. I step back in to the familiar trees, though I stay close to the sand as I stumble around, trying to find a place to hide.

I collapse against a tree at last, relaxing slightly.

Another figure, one I don't recognize, tentatively steps into the clearing.

* * *

Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3

District Three Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The water's gotten steadily closer the past few days, now maybe ten feet from the treeline. I suspect it will steadily grow faster, driving the tributes back until they're trapped on the volcano, a good few kilometers into the jungle. Or perhaps the rate is random, as most things here are. I mean, if the rate was in any way constant, how much space did we have before the Games began?

I shake my head, an act that has been much easier since yesterday. No hair flying in my face, slapping me in the eyes. I feel colder somehow, however, more vulnerable. I can't help but jump as the cool sea breeze twists around my exposed neck, as I imagine the knife that should accompany the breath of Death. It's impossible to rest here, especially with nobody watching your back. It's me against fourteen others right now, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Having so many left at this point isn't uncommon, but it already spells out a rather lengthy Games. At the current rate, the Games should last roughly six weeks, unless you include the eight fallen the first day. That would indicate two, but another bloodbath is unlikely unless there's a Feast of sorts. Seeing the lush greenery and perhaps more than abundant food source that is the Arena, that seems unlikely. Maybe _that's_ why the ocean is encroaching on the island; they're worried about the death rate.

Either way, it isn't affecting me as of yet. I never was the most noticeable tribute; I wasn't particularly skilled nor had a lack thereof. I'm just your average tribute who knows how to make a fair camp and likes long walks on the beach.

Dagger in hand, of course.

I sigh from my hammock, dried since the rains, though the humidity of the jungle still manages to gather water while I sleep, or even walk away for a couple hours. I'm growing tired of the monotony. In between the life-or-death situations, which I haven't really come across yet, the Games are truly boring. I'd never say it out loud, but the Capitol makes it seem like the ultimate Game of endurance, skill, and strength. Most tributes could probably hide in a tree for two weeks before anyone even remembered that they existed. Perhaps that's what happened to me.

I get up, my legs protesting slightly as they carry me to the white sand, seven feet from the alcove of trees that make up my camp. I turn to the West, unsure of what I'm doing, but too restless to stay put.

It's the same as every day since I arrived here, but today feels different somehow. The world seems to be holding its breath, making me uneasy. I keep going all the same however, my knuckles white around the hilt of my gift from yesterday. The waves lap lazily against the beach, before receding so far that a larger wave comes crashing down. Perfectly normal. For a death match.

I freeze as a bird screams out up ahead, her flock taking to the skies. A slight figure emerges from the tree line, freezing, staring out at the sea for a moment. I remember her: can't be more than fourteen, her grey jacket plastered with mud, agile on the sand. The girl from Ten. Cheyenne Bruno.

She cries out, whirling around and back in to the jungle. She's the first tribute I've come across in days, and I quickly follow her. Diving into the jungle, I listen for the crashing of branches, the squelching of mud, before it stops. After a moment, I come upon a particularly thin tree, the girl lying against it. She watches me, defeated. She makes no sound as I slowly get closer.

She closes her eyes, when I'm a couple meters away, and I find, to my horror, that a knife has been wedged into her upper arm. I shuffle forward, examining the wound. She flinches away, and I feel myself grow dizzy.

 _A lab. A scientist. Screams._

I push the thoughts away, focusing on the girl's face. Her features are scrunched in pain, her freckles nearly nonexistent from the days' worth of dirt.

"We need to patch you up, Cheyenne." I say, keeping my eyes from the knife. She cringes at my voice, but she gathers the will to respond.

"Just leave me alone."

"And how would you expect me to do that? I have stuff to help, and you're not even going to help me help you? Come on, we'll go back to my camp." I speak soothingly, as I had to Riker when he was younger. I'm not sure how well I remember those days now, a dream long ended.

She cracks open an eye, studying me cautiously. "Who are you? I took note of every tribute here, and you weren't one of them. _What_ are you?"

I cock my head slightly, concern forming on my lips. My hands then reach up to play with my hair, something I do when I'm nervous or deep in thought. But there's nothing there, and it dawns on me.

"Infiniti, District Three." I say calmly. "I cut my hair. Figured I might survive better that way. You're Cheyenne, right?" I add, attempting to build up some kind of trust with this girl. She nods slowly, and I stick out my hand.

"Let's go get you cleaned up."

* * *

Devon Cynthia Rose, Age 17, District 5

District Five Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

What I still don't understand, is how this happened in the first place. Alliances are risky enough in the Arena, but an Alliance between an honestly mediocre outlier and a Career? Unless the Career was younger, this has likely never happened in the history of the Games. At least, not since the Careers themselves came about. So what made this connection?

I've been watching the pair from One and Six for only a couple minutes, but it still feels wrong. I should leave, I know, before I'm spotted. Close proximity to other tributes more than often ends in confrontation, and confrontation always ends in death. But I suppose my curiosity is winning, for now.

They're just… talking. Casually. Probably about their Districts and families, perhaps about the others. I wonder how they felt when their respective Partners died, if they stopped to consider that there's another out there who wants to get home as much as they do. They probably don't care; anyone who sides with a Career must be heartless. But the boy seemed so nice in training; I remember him trying to help me with a sword, though I was much better with knives.

They pause their conversation, peeking out of their little tent and into the woods behind them, opposite me. I get up slowly, turning my back to them as I quietly begin to walk away.

I don't get very far.

A thin, silver javelin slices the air next to my head, sticking into the mud ten feet in front of me. An arrow follows a moment later, nicking my jacket and spinning to the ground. From behind me, I hear the word "Freeze!"

 _Like I have much choice_. I think stupidly, racking my brain for any way to escape. How many javelins did they have? Arrows? Do I dare try to find out?

"I'm sorry, Ori." I whisper to the trees, turning around to face the Alliance. I try my best to appear nonthreatening, but my fingers itch toward a knife hanging on the outside of my vest. Do I try to fight, or handle this diplomatically?

Before I speak, Six carefully hands the loaded bow to One, who draws it back again, aiming for my chest. Six takes a step forward.

"It's Devon, right?" He asks, "From Five? The mother?" I stare him levelly in the eyes, nodding slowly. He looks to Malaya, who lowers the bow. He looks back to me and approaches steadily, One glaring daggers at me. She subtly raises the bow, watching.

"What do you have, Five?" He asks, a few feet away. "Besides the knives, of course." My hand instinctively reaches for the weapons I got in the Bloodbath, and I catch One pull back the bowstring. Aran's tone is kind though, and I slowly lower my hand. He looks at me quizzically.

"Nothing." I answer at last. "The vests were only a few feet from Cassia and I, and I grabbed one and ran before she could stick me." I recall the horrible cries of the Thirteen boy, then the Two girl. "I caught her in the hand, though."

Aran smiles at the last bit, but confusion is still kicking me in the head. Why am I still alive?

"You have any Allies, Devon?" He asks.

I narrow my eyes, but decide to tell him the truth: "No," I say, "I'm completely alone here."

"How would you like to _not_ be alone?" He glances back to Malaya, who has lowered her weapon in confusion.

"Um…" I start, thinking. It _would_ be nice to talk to someone for once, instead of walking around the jungle like a homeless lady. Then again, I'm not sure I feel comfortable in an Alliance with A _Career_.

However, if I walk away, I'm probably dead. "That would be nice." I finally say, hesitant.

Aran grins, sticking out his hand. "Well Devon, welcome to the Alliance!"

* * *

 **Placings!**

 **26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **17** **th** **: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male**

 **16** **th** **: Jetta Carter, Age 17, District Six Female**

* * *

 **Kills!**

 **Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)**

 **Cassia Lyra Maurise: 2 (Thorn Ashbury, D11M; Sparky Montgomery, D13M)**

 **Mason Lepodolite: 3 (Jetta Carter, D6F; Tulle Salane, D8F; Keola Foeba, D12F)**

 **Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn: 2 (Soot Maloy, D12M; Rebelle Sunflower Rine, D13F)**

 **Darius Line: 1 (Harvest Miller, D9F)**

 **Other: 2 (Marcus Caelum, D1M (Sepsis); Denny Rico, D10M (Jaguar))**

* * *

 **Alliances!**

 **Careers: Mason (2), Cassia (2) and Esmeralda (4).**

 **Malaran (Araya?) and Devon: Malaya (1), Devon (5) and Aran (6)**

 **Brains and Brawn: Blue (4) and Henry (8)**

* * *

 **Potential Alliances!**

 **Fragmented: Infiniti (3) and Cheyenne (10)**

* * *

 **Loners!**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Logan (7)**

 **Thanatos (9)**

 **Willow (11)**

* * *

 **Questions!**

 **Thoughts on our new Alliances, potential and expanded?**

 **Think any need a name change?**

 **Who do you feel like we haven't heard from in a while?**

 **Catch any references?**

 **This makes the third day without a death so far. What do you think of the pace at which the Games is going along?**

 **Who'll fall next/soon?**

 **Until next time,**

 **Lord Z**


	41. Remember Our Past- Day Seven Recap

**As I write this beginning bit, I hope that the day I post will be the 23** **rd** **. But hopes are, all too often, dashed by the evil writing gods. At least for me. Anyway…**

 **Yup. The 29** **th** **, and I still have 13 POVs to go. Darn.**

 **Reviews!**

 **The First Adventuress: It's so good to hear from you! I know, life, responsibility, et cetera, it happens! If you manage to get one out over the break (I write this three days before my own), great! I hope the same for myself! If not, I suppose that's just how it goes. Thanks for the review, and don't sweat it!**

 **dreams and desperation: Thanks for the review, and I'm glad you liked the chapter so much!**

 **roses burning: I'm pretty good, I think. Winter break is here, and I have time to write XD. Thanks for the review!**

 **Wolfie McCoy: Nah, I'm still here! XD Thanks for the review, and if you're worried, feel free to PM me. I shall not give up!**

 **… You know you've spent too much time away from the keyboard when you can't remember a certain tribute's last name…**

 **On to the 13-page chapter!**

* * *

Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1

District One Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I've been in the Arena seven days, and nothing is going as I had planned. I'm not with the Careers, leaving two outer Districts as my allies. I'm not sure whether I trust Devon, not like I trust Aran. At the same time, I feel like trusting Aran goes against everything I've ever been taught, which, in a way, it does. One of the first rules you learn at the Academy is to never trust anyone in the Arena, something drilled into our heads as we go through many physical tests and exercises to determine our skill set. I never thought I'd break that rule.

I never thought I'd break the second rule either: stick with the Careers. I never was a particularly vicious one; I wouldn't grab a girl by the hair and laugh as I slit her throat. However, I'm also not against winning the Games either, something that nearly always comes from being with the Careers. So why then would I leave them?

There were supposed to be six of us: Mason, Cassia, Mera, a boy by the name of Tycho, myself and Marcus. I never thought the Pack would fracture so quickly.

I am reminded again of my old Partner, and I wonder again how exactly he might have died. Couldn't have been that arrow wound, could it? I shiver as I remember the shot, meant only to distract him while Aran got away. I was simply going to spare him, not join him. But that idiot jumped in the way and got himself shot. What should I have done? I will admit, I panicked. What would the others have thought? Would they have seen what I had done on purpose? Could I have convinced them otherwise? Did I really care?

But how did his face appear in the sky the third night? Could the other three have thought him dead weight? It wasn't that bad, they could have left him to guard while they hunted. Couldn't have been any reasonable infection; Mera or Cassia or even potentially Mason could have prevented that.

 _It doesn't matter anymore anyway_. I think, shaking my head. _You're alive, the Bloodbath's in the past. What happens next is all that matters._

I look away from the tree in which I'm keeping watch tonight. The moonlight filtering through the canopy just reveals the sleeping form of Aran, sleeping on the hard stone after insisting that the girls have the makeshift tent.

 _Another day, another lifetime._

* * *

Cassia Lyra Maurise, Age 18, District 2

District Two Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Mera lost herself _another_ kill today, the little girl from Ten no less. I swear, the amount of times we've been evaded this week alone makes me almost want to leave these two wannabes and hunt the others on my own. Until Mason is dead, however, that is unadvisable.

In total, the three of us have killed… seven of the total tributes? Marcus had the Seven girl, but he's four days dead. Mason has the Six, Eight and Twelve girls, Mera the Thirteen girl and Soot. That leaves me as the baby-killer of the group, taking the boys from Eleven and Thirteen, the latter being the only twelve-year-old in this year's Games.

I wasn't trying for the boy, no. In fact, Marcus wanted to kill him, the boy who had made fun of him in training. I was more than happy; I'm here to win as much as kill, and if I looked better after my Victory because I only killed older tributes, as well as those who attack me, all the better. Eleven tried to attack on his way down the mountain, which made the conflict unavoidable. Thirteen, however… well, he's only dead because that sneaky witch from Five managed to slither out of my fingers.

I feel around the palm of my right hand, searching under the cover of my sleeping bag for the scar that remains from the Bloodbath. It all happened so fast; the vest, twin flashes of silver, a boy screaming on the ground, my own surprised cries of pain. I couldn't believe the accuracy: that of my own hand as well as Five's. And the child's unluckiest decision in his entire life.

I sit up, suddenly realizing that the Capitol could quickly paint me as the monster of these Games. I can't have that! They'll never let me win if I only kill the younger tributes. If I keep up my current streak, I won't survive. I need to give them a show they'll enjoy, a fierce battle between two tributes that could last hours, potentially.

I'll go hunting tomorrow. Any tribute from Seven or above will be my target. I will redeem myself in the eyes of the throngs.

* * *

Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3

District Three Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Cheyenne's wound really wasn't all bad, it was mostly the terror and exhaustion from the past few days that had been affecting her. Using the bandages from my pack, a little memory from training, and some water from the cenote, I managed to clean her up and get her to sleep while I went to collect some more. I was honestly surprised to find her still at my camp when I returned, but I suppose she might be tired of moving around for a while.

"How are you feeling?" I ask as I squeeze through the trees surrounding my clearing. I catch sight of her jumping slightly as I speak, though her eyes remain on the ocean.

"Okay, I think." She replies quietly. "How did you find this place?" She turns to me. "It's remarkable, considering."

"I just… did, I guess." I say. "Just was kinda walking along the beach the second day; sort of stumbled across it. I was collecting vines when-" I pause, remembering that night. I was looking for the vines for my hammock when the death Recap lit up the sky. When the Ten boy's face appeared. "When, um… I found out about Denny."

We both cringe at my words, and Cheyenne turns away from the fire, shaking silently. "Were you two… close?" I ask tentatively.

"He was my Ally." She informs me, her voice a near whisper now. "There were three of us: Keola, Denny and me. I lost all my Allies in two days." She hugs her knees, bowing her head slightly.

"I'm sorry, Cheyenne." I tell her. "That must have been horrible."

"It was."

There's a long pause before I speak, "I lost my Ally the first day too. I never saw her after we decided on our strategy."

"It's the way of the Game, though, isn't it?" She looks over her shoulder, tears in her eyes.

I nod sadly. "I suppose it is."

* * *

Jasper Blue, Age 16, District 4

District Four Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Another day without death. How many such as this will the Capitol stand for? Not that I want to die any sooner, but it seems to Henry as though the heavy rains on Days Five and Six were for the sole purpose of killing someone, and the Six girl was on the receiving end of that intent. It makes sense; it happens often enough. The fact that they had to do it with so many left is astounding. They don't usually do this type of thing until the final half at least.

And if they should do it again, who will draw the short straw?

I would hope it wouldn't be Henry or I, or even Mera if it came down to it. If neither of us can go home, I'd at least like a Four to. But what of the dozen others that remain? What do I care for them? How would I feel if the girl from Eleven died? Would it be the same as one of the Twos? Has this Game warped me so much that I wouldn't care if one of the youngest remaining tributes fell to the Gamemakers' brutality?

My own sword?

Since the encounter with One and Six, I've wondered how exactly I should react in life-threatening situations. Or even just encounters in general. If I came across Henry after the Final Eight, would I kill him? How would I manage that if we were the Final Two? What if I'm there with Ten or Eleven? At what point do I decide if my life is worth more than someone else's?

So much for being the dark horse Career of these Games. Tycho is, no doubt, laughing his arse off back home, watching as I stumble around with someone who's greatest skill is _survival_. Not that I'm complaining, of course; the stuff that my young Ally has managed to come up with is incredible, especially since he received his Sponsor gift the other day.

He's sleeping now, peacefully curled against a hollow in a mangrove. He seems unfazed by the sounds of the night, the chirps of insects and the constant sound of the flowing river. Seven days so far, and we remain unscathed. He remains pure and good.

If we survive the remainder of the Games, I decide, he must be the one to go home. He doesn't belong in this sort of setting; he deserves better than all this.

* * *

Devon Cynthia Rose, Age 17, District 5

District Five Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

I'm not sure how much I can trust my new Allies. I know Malaya doesn't trust me; her breathing has been unsteadied ever since she went back to "sleep." I've only been on watch a couple hours now, but I'm tempted to fall back asleep myself. There's no reason for me to be awake if she'll deprive herself of sleep.

And perhaps she wants me to look weak, I don't know. Make me feel uneasy. Aran seems more than happy with accepting me into the Alliance, but I worry about how he might have treated me if I were someone else. Besides, if it comes down to the Alliance breaking, there's no way they'd let me just walk away, would they?

I wonder, here in the dark, if the boy from Twelve ever felt this way. He was accepted into an Alliance he didn't belong in, a fact that wasn't exactly secret among the tributes during training. How hard did he think of that decision before making it? And where has it gotten him now? I brought it up to Malaya today, who explained to me that the others didn't really want her to know the reason, but the fact that he's dead now gives us all reason to believe they were only toying with him. How could anyone be so heartless?

Scratch that, people have been that heartless for centuries. Even before the Games, there were wars and such atrocities that the Capitol just wants to cover up. Our history books have been rewritten simply to omit what they don't want us to see or read.

My gut twists as I think of the outside world, far from here, where the worst I had to deal with was dirty looks and the threat of Darius Thunder hanging over my head like a knife. I had my friends, however, and sweet, sweet Ori. My heart beats rapidly as I picture him in my place, some fifteen years from now. Would he be taught not to make such foolish mistakes in the Arena as Soot Maloy? How could I teach him to be good and trusting, knowing that that could get him killed?

But how could I teach him to be strict and strong, knowing he could become a killer?

* * *

Cheyenne Bruno, Age 13, District 10

District Ten Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The shadows around us dance in the firelight. Since our unavoidable conversation about death, Infiniti and I have transitioned to gentler topics. She's told me about Three, though she refuses to speak on some topics, while I've told her just about everything about Ten. It's strange, feeling so close to someone so much older than me. She must remind me of Charlotte, though they're still a year apart.

She's also spoken avidly about her younger brother Ryker, who's my age. I can't help but wonder: does Charlotte see me as Infiniti sees Ryker?

"I hate to stray back to unfriendly topics." Fin pauses, her voice quieting. "But we both know that we can't avoid the Games forever. So, then," She looks at me, "what are you planning for the new day, Chey? I know I'll have to pack up and move in two or three days, but until then I intend to stay here. What about you?" I look at her, and I realize that we've grown close, closer than we should have in this short amount of time.

Perhaps it's because we both lost friends here. Perhaps we almost see each other as siblings in another life. Companionship is hard to find once the gong rings, and I wonder if I'd ever be able to find it again. If I did, could we meet on such friendly terms?

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, though I wince as a shot of pain arcs up my wounded arm. "I'm okay." I say before Infiniti can voice her concern. "I think I'll stay a little longer with you, if that's alright. Give myself some time to heal, and I can at least help you find a better spot when you have to move. It's only fair after you saved my life."

"Sounds like a plan." She smiles. "So, we're Allies then? At least, for the time-being?"

"I'd say so." I laugh, the sound alien among the mangroves.

"If we're Allies, can I see what's in your bag?" She asks, nodding toward my forgotten pack. She did her best to clean the mud off it, but she didn't dare zip it open.

I shrug, "There's not much of use, but sure."

She reaches over, grabbing the bloodstained knife as she does. She decided I should keep it as it was, technically, given to me by the Four girl. She opens the zip, and begins rifling through it. I lean back onto my left elbow, knowing she'll find some iodine, matches…

"What's this?" She asks, and I sit up. In her hands are the strange vial and metal canister.

"Poison, I think," I nod to the vial, "and, um… I haven't quite figured out the metal thing yet."

"Cheyenne?" She looks at me. "This "metal thing" is a bomb."

* * *

Mason Lepodolite, Age 18, District 2

District Two Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

With each passing day, it's hard to believe how few tributes have died. I mean, sure, eleven is a lot, when compared to the original twenty-six, but only three have died since the first day. Heck, one of them was a Career. Not very good for our approval ratings, I'm sure.

Eleven deaths, three of which are my own doing, of course. All girls, from Six, Eight and Twelve. The two former's Partner are still out there, and I intend to get them too. I might have killed Soot too, but Mera insisted on getting her way with _him_.

I can't help but chuckle when I think about my second kill. Eight was annoying, and I had to make it quick. Twelve, however… no, I got to savor her. I can still see the look of terror as her gaze fixed on me, her frustration as she couldn't move. She pleaded with me, told me to leave her be. Oh, but it was just getting good. It took a moment to calm her down, yes, but…

 _I hold back a laugh, speaking instead in a gentle, almost concerned, tone: "You did a doozy, didn't you Twelve?" I shake my head, and she stares levelly at me._

 _"If you'd like, I can get you to the base of the mountain." I suppress a smirk as she cocks her head slightly. Oh, what people will believe when faced with death._

 _"Here." I bend down, reaching for her. She grimaces in pain as she shuffles away in a panic, and I let my annoyance show. "We don't have much time. They'll expect me to join them soon."_ Not that I'll have a tough time of _that, I think._

 _I step forward, gathering the younger girl into my arms. She slowly relaxes as I take a few steps downhill, curling into my chest. I stop, but she doesn't respond._

 _Slowly, I wrap my fist around her swelling ankle, strengthening my grip on her torso. She cries out, and I laugh as I spin around, finally releasing her into a freefall down the mountainside._

 _The young tribute laughs back until she slams into the dark stone, five meters from the vast jungle._

Yes, good times, that.

* * *

Cordin Bolt, Age 16, District 3

District Three Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The darkness here isn't so terrifying, not since I set up camp here. My alcove is about ten feet in diameter, the three-foot break overlooking the ocean keeping me cool during the day, though it can get a bit windy. A particularly large mangrove extends above the others, limbs branching out to make a kind of ladder up either side. Easy access, if you're willing to climb.

And I am. Most nights, I sit in the canopy, scanning the jungle for signs of danger. The night vision goggles I stole from the Careers, I've found, also have a heat-signature setting, one that allows me to see further and better than simple night vision.

Tonight, as I overlook the surrounding area, I see the usual bits of dull orange that make up the wildlife of the Arena: mostly large insects and small animals. I thought I caught sight of some sort of big cat, but it quickly disappeared several days ago. And, of course, there's the deep red of the volcano in the distance.

Tonight, however, I see twin humanoid flames, weaving in and out of the trees, following the cool blue of the river. Near as I can figure, the only possible Alliance is the boys from Four and Eight. Judging by their sizes, it's a pretty good guess. They're still a long way to the south, however, so I'm not as worried about the threat they pose as, perhaps, I should be. I can see them, of course, so that's probably the reason I'm so at ease.

I climb down the tree, content, as the boys seem to prepare for the night. I realize that they're the first sign of the Games since my escape five days ago, but I choose not to dwell on that. The less I see of my opponents, the higher the chance that I will survive another day.

That's all I must do now: survive.

* * *

Esmeralda Dawn, Age 18, District 4

District Four Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

My instincts itch for blood, for the feeling one gets as she buries a blade into her opponent, listening to their screams as the light fades from their eyes. I am a weapon of combat, a knife screaming for death. A tool for tortured souls.

That's all I've done in this Arena thus far. Both the Twelve boy and the Six girl felt my cruelty, the boy a solid half hour. Yes, I had my fun with them, but they were bested without combat, without shows of superiority or strength. Most deaths in the Games so far have been that way, from the boy from One to the one from Thirteen. Few exceptions, since we don't know what happened to the girl from Nine or the Ten boy.

The Thirteen girl however… I must admit, she was a worthy opponent.

In training, we were told that it could happen: some desperate outlier, one we thought so low that we could best them with a wave of the hand; one that could do more damage than anyone ever thought possible. It's rare, of course; so rare that we'd never suspect a thing until we were on the ground dead. Victors like Johanna Mason, weak until they could afford to fight head-on. Tributes like that have a habit of winning.

Thirteen had a lot of guts. She taunted me in training, smirked at me as we awaited the countdown. I thought she was trying to seem brave, that she'd really flee when the gong rang. I never thought I'd face her at all, let alone so early, let alone in life-or-death combat.

If it was later in the Games, she might have gotten me. I wouldn't have had my guard so strong, my adrenaline so high. If she had waited a few more years, she might have won.

But stupidity costs lives.

* * *

Thanatos Rise, Age 15, District 9

District Nine Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

There's still blood here. Not on the mountainside itself, no. That all washed away with the rains the last couple days. No, but there's several gallons spread in streaks all around the inner walls of the Cornucopia, sitting in dried rivers along the black ground. It's a horrid sight to behold; someone was tortured here.

It's not that hard to figure it out. It must have happened the first or second day, for the Careers had completely moved out by the third- there isn't even a strand of twine lying around. The way the blood hadn't pooled as much indicates a drawn-out death, leaving out just about any Bloodbaths. Except…

There was one cannon, after the first seven had sounded. It had been about an hour into the Games. It was probably him they did this to.

Or her, I suppose.

I can't shake the thought of my District Partner, who managed such a high score despite not having any obvious skills, dying on the first day. Had she been here, held down as a knife sprayed her blood around, screaming until her heart stopped beating? It's a poor ending for anyone, but imagining Harvest on the ground, writhing under the weight of a Career, somehow unnerves me more.

Is it because she was younger than me? Because I had spoken to her, unlike most, if not all, of the others? Is it because she was from home?

I had told myself that I hated her. That she didn't deserve her status. Well, she didn't. She lived a life overlooking the District while I lived in a shack next to a field. She lived a life of joy and prosperity while my parents hated my soul. Why had I been forced to deal with her? Some snobby rich girl who hadn't worked a day in her life and the Capitol loved simply because of her name.

Except she hadn't asked for any of this. She hadn't asked for Wheat to be Reaped for the Hunger Games. She hadn't asked for the experience herself. I had planned for it; I knew I was going into the Games, even if I hadn't expected to be Reaped. What right have I to be angry at her for wanting to survive? For brilliantly pulling a Johanna Mason?

Or had she?

She seemed so shocked when her score showed up. She was still in her pajamas; for the comfort, I had assumed. But… had she even shown up to the Sessions? I wrack my brain, but I can't for the life of me remember seeing her in the waiting room. Granted, the Three boy wasn't there either, yet he got an eight. What's going on here?

I shake my head, refusing to continue this train of thought. She's gone; I can afford to solve _that_ particular mystery later, after I've won.

For now, I must put the memory aside, much like I must with the mess the Careers have created here.

However, like the blood, I know that such memories can be very difficult to wash away **.**

* * *

Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

District Seven Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

It's not very fair, living in the outer Districts. We're paid no attention, left to starve. In the Hunger Games, we fade into the background until it's our turn to die. It doesn't matter who we were before we were Reaped; the Capitol takes what it wants, and it will keep taking until we either die, or somehow win.

Already, two Districts dead in this sick Game, seven others halfway there. At this point, I'm District Seven's only hope for a Victor this year, but Two through Five still have both tributes alive and, probably, well. Why is it that Seven either doesn't get far, both dying in the Bloodbath, or we somehow reach the Final Four or win?

Kenzie didn't get very far. I never thought she would, but she had a very loving family and adoring fans all over Panem. Were there riots? Did anyone in the Capitol, who seemed to love her tricks and jokes, shed a tear as she met her bloody end? Would my death be met with silence, people trying to recall my name?

My Partner wouldn't have been very at-home here in the Arena, not like me. She was a model, never working in the lumber yards or mills a day in her life. That should leave me, of the remaining fifteen tributes, with the most advantage.

However, familiarity with the climate doesn't make a Victor, just as the ability to swing a sword doesn't. A Seven might be at home here, but I still need a weapon **.**

* * *

Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8

District Eight Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

How exactly I have managed to live this long is honestly beyond me. Or maybe not. I have an Ally, who has honestly done a great job of protecting me and providing me with company thus far. Without him, though, I would no doubt be dead. If I had come across One and Six myself, would I have survived? Probably not, based on how the Six boy reacted to the situation.

But Blue would do just fine on his own, wouldn't he? So why does he stay? Most Victors had an Ally at some point, so he's already set in those terms.

A lot of the other tributes this year never had Allies. Most of them are dead. Jetta, Keola, the Thirteens. Tulle.

I really thought she could win this year. Fifty-five years, and it somehow comes down to me. Cecelia had all the confidence in Tulle, Velvet tried his best to seem like he'd thought I'd make it, but we both knew that that was a long shot. Only one tribute from Eight my age has ever won the Games, and her Victory has so far been our last.

At fifteen, Tulle could have overcome that age barrier. Eight has no Victors her age, but that at least would be more likely than mine. She wasn't unskilled; she somehow had the ability to swing an axe as good as any Seven. Me? I know plants.

You need to be able to use a weapon in the Games. The only weapon I've used thus far is a knife. To crush beetroot seeds.

As the amount of tributes whittles down, I'm going to seriously wish that I could do something other than mix powdered hemlock.

* * *

Willow Orchids, Age 13, District 11

District Eleven Female, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The Hunger Games can be incredibly lonely, which I think is worse if you were expecting company. A week ago. My last interaction with actual people was with the Careers several days ago, though I'd rather not go through _that_ again.

Honestly though, how can anyone go through an ordeal such as this alone? I know many Victors have, so how are they not insane? Every shadow is a Career here, every movement you make reveals yourself to those who would want to kill you. How did they manage the terror without anyone to find some semblance of comfort with?

For a week now, I've probably been viewed as the weakest tribute left in the Games. I'm one of the youngest, for sure, I'm on my own, and I'm from the outermost remaining District. How am I supposed to keep the odds from affecting my thoughts?

Thorn would have been unfazed, I'm sure. He seemed so strong to me, so capable. He seemed determined to stick with me, help me live if he could. We never talked about what point we would reach before we split, but I wouldn't have been surprised if we lasted to the end.

But now he's dead. I'll never know what he would have been like in the Arena, and I'll never stop wondering what might have been.

I don't cry when I think of him anymore; he's been dead about as long as I knew him. I've somehow managed to outlive him and ten others, something I'd never imagined being able to do on my own.

On my own. If I somehow manage to survive this, it will be of my own volition. Excepting Crysta, my one link to the outside world, I am truly on my own.

* * *

Darius Line, Age 17, District 5

District Five Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

The Hunger Games, I've found, were aptly named. I haven't yet found, nor caught, anything I'd trust to be edible. I still have the small pack of jerky I received a few days ago, but I've reduced that supply to two strips already, and I've only had a few per day.

I'm tempted to beg for another gift, but I'm sure my funds were low already and the original package three days ago was no doubt expensive. At this point in the Games, I wouldn't be surprised if gifts are twice as expensive as before.

Despite the ever-present hunger, I've had a surprisingly good time in these Games. I haven't met a single tribute since… well, the first day. I only know the manner in which one of the fallen have died, though I can imagine how the others went. I've almost made the top half in this year's Games, and I've barely lifted a finger.

Now then, if I could just find a squirrel or something, I'd be set. I have my knife, makeshift bow staff, even a blowgun. Shouldn't be that hard. To kill something so small, I think. I have to find it first.

* * *

Aran Quade, Age 17, District 6

District Six Male, Sixth Quarter Quell

* * *

Malaya doesn't trust Devon. I get that, considering that we just found her today, but I see no reason to go so far as to assume she'd kill us. Dev reminds me of someone I knew once. She has the same kind spirit, that instinct to help others that doesn't come naturally to most people in this country. The only difference is that she's alive, and Jetta's dead.

I'd never say I knew my deceased Partner all that well. I had seen her before, might even have been able to place her face if you told me her name, but I never really knew her before we were both Reaped into the Hunger Games.

Besides, who would I be to orphan a three-year-old, or let someone I care about do it? Perhaps it would have been simpler to just let her walk away, but I don't want to make Malaya mad, not after what we've been through these past few days. I also don't want to lose any Sponsors we might have. If we had two confrontations without death, the Capitol wouldn't likely be happy with us.

I just worry about the next person who crosses our path.

If Jetta were alive, would I go ahead and shoot her in the throat? Probably not, though heaven knows the Capitol loves it when District pairs turn on each other. That seldom happens, however, unless of course the pair makes it to the Final Two. Still though, at what point will Malaya and I have to kill in order to progress? Will it be tomorrow, tonight? Or will it be in several days, when we're close enough to the end to taste Victory?

No, I wouldn't have killed Jetta. But would I have tried to kill Malaya, even after talking to her the night of the Interviews, had she chosen to stay with the Careers?

* * *

 **Placings!**

 **26th: Sparky Montgomery, Age 12, District Thirteen Male**

 **25th: Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District Seven Female**

 **24th: Tulle Salane, Age 15, District Eight Female**

 **23rd: Thorn Ashburry, Age 13, District Eleven Male**

 **22nd: Keola Foeba, Age 13, District Twelve Female**

 **21st: Harvest Miller, Age 14, District Nine Female**

 **20th: Rebelle Rine, Age 13, District Thirteen Female**

 **19th: Soot Maloy, Age 13, District Twelve Male**

 **18th: Denny Rico, Age 14, District Ten Male**

 **17** **th** **: Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District One Male**

 **16** **th** **: Jetta Carter, Age 17, District Six Female**

* * *

 **Kills!**

 **Marcus Caelum: 1 (Kenzi Williams, D7F)**

 **Cassia Lyra Maurise: 2 (Thorn Ashbury, D11M; Sparky Montgomery, D13M)**

 **Mason Lepodolite: 3 (Jetta Carter, D6F; Tulle Salane, D8F; Keola Foeba, D12F)**

 **Esmeralda "Mera" Annalise Dawn: 2 (Soot Maloy, D12M; Rebelle Sunflower Rine, D13F)**

 **Darius Line: 1 (Harvest Miller, D9F)**

 **Other: 2 (Marcus Caelum, D1M (Sepsis); Denny Rico, D10M (Jaguar))**

* * *

 **Alliances!**

 **Malaran and Devon: Malaya (1), Devon (5) and Aran (6)**

 **Careers: Mason (2), Cassia (2) and Esmeralda (4)**

 **Fragmented: Infiniti (3) and Cheyenne (10)**

 **Brains and Brawn: Blue (4) and Henry (8)**

* * *

 **Loners!**

 **Cordin (3)**

 **Darius (5)**

 **Logan (7)**

 **Thanatos (9)**

 **Willow (11)**

* * *

 **Questions!**

 **Thoughts on this format?**

 **Would you have preferred something else with this chapter?**

 **Thoughts on the future?**

 **If you could change one thing in this story's past, what would it be? (for the sake of myself improving, thank you)**

 **Until the next sunrise (in the Arena),**

 **Lord Z**


End file.
